3   1822  01338  9689 


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CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


3   1822  01338  9689 


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University  of  California,  San  Diego 

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AN  INTRODUCTION 
TO  SOCIAL  ETHICS 

THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  IN  A 
DEMOCRACY 


BY 

JOHN  M.   MECKLIN,   PH.D. 

PROFESSOR   OF   SOQKfCp&f\l3A.fLTMOUTH   COLLEGE 
AUTHOR  OF   "DEMOCRACY  AND   RACE  FRICTION" 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    IQ2O,   BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACE   AND   HOWE,    INC. 


THE  QUINN  A  BODEN  COMPANY 
RAHWAY.   N.  J. 


TO 

H.  D.   M. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 
HISTORICAL  AND  INTRODUCTORY 


PAGE 

1.  THE  MEANING  OF  DEMOCRACY .  3 

2.  DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  AVERAGE  MAN 6 

3.  THE  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  AVERAGE  MAN 8 

4.  DEMOS,  THE  MODERN  TYRANT 12 

5.  THE  FALLACY  OF  MERE  GOODNESS 15 

6.  THE  PARADOX  OF  DEMOCRACY 19 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND :  CALVINISM 

1.  THE  PREDOMINANT  RELIGIOUS  INTEREST 23 

2.  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CALVINISM 25 

3.  THE  SOCIAL  IMPLICATIONS  OF  CALVINISM     .       .       .       .       .       .29 

4.  THE  PURITAN  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS 32 

5.  THE  DECAY  OF  PURITANISM 38 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

1.  THE  RELIGIOUS  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       ....      44 

2.  THE  POLITICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       ....      48 

3.  INDIVIDUALISM     ENCOURAGED    BY    FORM    OF    GOVERNMENT    AND 

PIONEER  LIFE       ....  52 

4.  THE  NEED  OF  A  NEW  INDIVIDUALISM 56 


CHAPTER  IF 
THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

1.  EFFECT  OF  THE  INDUSTRIAL  REVOLUTION  UPON  ENGLAND       .       .      61 

2.  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  IN  AMERICA 66 

3.  TRAITS  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  AS  ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE  CORPORA- 

TION        72 

4.  FUTURE  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 79 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  V 
OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

1.  WHAT  is  AMERICANISM? 82 

2.  CONFLICT  OF  INDIVIDUALISM  AND  COLLECTIVISM 85 

3.  DUALISM  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE 89 

4.  FACT  AND  IDEAL 94 


PART  II 
PSYCHOLOGICAL 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

PAGE 

1.  THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  SOCIAL  SCIENCE 99 

2.  ORGANIZATION  FUNDAMENTAL  IN  CHARACTER 100 

3.  CONSTITUENT  ELEMENTS  IN  CHARACTER 104 

4.  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 108 

5.  ROLE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS in 

CHAPTER  VII 
THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

1.  THE  ROLE  OF  GROUP  CONSCIOUSNESS .      .  114 

2.  CUSTOM  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 115 

3.  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 120 

4.  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  AND  THE  VIRTUES 124 

CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Continued) 

1.  THE  ROLE  OF  IDEAS  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 129 

2.  SOME  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 133 

3.  TYPES  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 140 

CHAPTER  IX 
PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

1.  SOME  DEFINITIONS  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION  .       .       ......       .     146 

2.  PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  DIFFERENTIATED     .       .     149 

3.  THE  ORGANIC  SOCIAL  JUDGMENT 156 


CONTENTS  vii 

CHAPTER  X 
LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

1.  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  NEVER  IMPARTIAL 

2.  THE  NARROW  SCOPE  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

3.  THE  TYRANNY  OF  THE  MAJORITY 

4.  THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE 

5.  DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

1.  AMBIGUITY  OF  THE  TERM  PROGRESS 179 

2.  THEORIES  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 180 

3.  INSIGHT  AND  MORAL  PROGRESS 185 

4.  THE  INEVITABLENESS  OF  CHANGE 188 

5.  CHANGE  AND  IRRATIONALITY 190 

6.  CHANGE  AND  MORAL  RESPONSIBILITY 193 

7.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  MORAL  IDEAL 196 


PART  III 
THE  SOCIAL  ORDER 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  THE  MORAL  ECONOMY 

1.  THE  INSTITUTION  AS  A  MORAL  EDUCATOR 203 

2.  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  INSTITUTIONAL  SELF 205 

3.  COMPOSITE  NATURE  OF  THE  SELF 207 

4.  THE  RELATION  OF  INSTITUTIONAL  AND  INDIVIDUAL  SELVES  TO  THE 

SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 211 

CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

1.  THE  DEBT  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL  TO  THE  INSTITUTION  ....    214 

2.  THE  SELF-MADE  MAN 215 

3.  THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION 217 

CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  HOME 

1.  THE  INSTINCTIVE  BASIS  OF  THE  HOME 226 

2.  THE  COLONIAL  HOME 228 

3.  THE  HOME  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD 233 

4.  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  HOME 238 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XV 
THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

PAGE 

1.  THE  CHURCH  AND  SOCIETY 246 

2.  THE  RISE  OF  A  SECULAR  ETHIC 249 

3.  PROTESTANTISM  AND  COMPETITION 252 

4.  THE  PROTESTANT  ETHIC  OF  WORK 255 

5.  ANTI-!NTELLECTUALISM 259 

6.  DOGMA  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  FAITH 262 

7.  AUTHORITARIANISM  AND  MORALS 266 

8.  POSITIVE  CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  THE  CHURCH  TO  THE  SOCIAL  CON- 

SCIENCE          269 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

1.  THE  SOCIAL  FUNCTION  OF  THE  SCHOOL 276 

2.  THE  COLONIAL  SCHOOL 277 

3.  THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD 279 

4.  THE  RISE  OF  THE  DEMOCRATIC  IDEAL  IN  EDUCATION  ....  280 

5.  THE  EDUCATIONAL  AIM  AND  THE  MORAL  IDEAL 283 

6.  THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  NORMS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE      .      .  285 

7.  THE  TEACHER  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 290 

8.  THE  SCHOOL  AND  MORAL  DISCIPLINE 293 

9.  MORAL  THOUGHTFULNESS 295 

10.  ACADEMIC  FREEDOM 297 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

1.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY    ....  302 

2.  POSITION  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE  ....  304 

3.  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  RELIGIOUS  TRADITIONS 305 

4.  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AS  A  NATURAL  RIGHT 306 

5.  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  THE  CONSTITUTION 307 

6.  PROPERTY  AND  INDUSTRIAL  DEVELOPMENT 310 

7.  PROPERTY  AND  SOCIAL  STRATIFICATION 311 

8.  TENDENCY  TO  IDENTIFY  PROPERTY  WITH  OWNERSHIP  ....  314 

9.  INSTRUMENTALITIES  FOR  SOCIALIZING  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  .      .      .  317 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

1.  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 323 

2.  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE       .......  327 

3.  THE  CULTURAL  INCIDENCE  OF  THE  MACHINE 336 

4.  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  SOCIAL  ORGANISM  ....  342 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

PAGE 

1.  SUBORDINATION  OF  THE  WORKER  TO  THE  MACHINE    ....  347 

2.  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  INSTINCTS 350 

3.  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  LABOR  UNION 359 

4.  THE  LAW,  THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS      .      .       .  363 

CHAPTER  XX 
THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

1.  BUSINESS  AND  MORALS 371 

2.  THE  ENTREPRENEUR 373 

3.  DOMINANCE  OF  THE  PECUNIARY  STANDARD 376 

4.  PROFITISM  AND  THE  PROFITEER 381 

5.  THE  MORALITY  OF  PROFITS 385 

6.  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PROFITS 388 

7.  COMPETITION 391 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

1.  THE  CITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 397 

2.  BACKGROUND  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY 398 

3.  BONDAGE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY 402 

4.  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 404 

5.  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY      .  409 

6.  THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL 415 


CHAPTER  XXII 
POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

1.  MORAL  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  STATE 422 

2.  CONSTITUTION  AS  POLITICAL  SCHOOL  MASTER 423 

3.  RISE  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY 426 

4.  CRITICISMS  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY 429 

5.  THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  THE  FUTURE 435 


AN  INTRODUCTION 
TO    SOCIAL   ETHICS 


PART  I 
HISTORICAL  AND  INTRODUCTORY 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

§  i.   THE  MEANING  OF  DEMOCRACY 

THE  fundamental  problem  of  human  life  is  the  social  problem 
or  the  problem  of  living  together  in  a  social  order  with  the 
least  friction  and  the  richest  possible  conservation  and  develop- 
ment of  human  powers.  Democracy  is  but  the  last  and,  we  are 
more  and  more  convinced,  the  best  solution  of  the  social  prob- 
lem. Democracy,  therefore,  whatever  it  may  mean,  is  not 
ultimate;  it  is  a  means  to  an  end.  It  is  merely  one  of  the  many 
solutions  that  have  been  proposed  for  the  fundamental  problem 
of  civilization.  Democracy  is  true,  then,  not  because  it  reflects 
the  eternal  order  of  things  but  because  of  its  practical  results. 
Of  governments  as  well  as  of  religious  beliefs  it  may  be  said 
"  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them  ". 

Democracy  being  an  attempt  to  solve  a  comprehensive 
problem  will  of  course  present  many  phases.  Looked  at  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  state,  democracy  may  be  denned  as 
the  vesting  of  the  people  with  the  sovereign  power.  The 
supreme  advantage  of  popular  rule  is  that  through  it  freedom 
and  responsibility,  rights  and  duties,  are  most  intimately  re- 
lated. The  exercise  of  sovereignty  emphasizes  the  obligations 
that  accompany  it.  Men  are  made  to  feel  that  rights  and 
duties  are  but  different  ways  of  viewing  the  same  social 
situation. 

The  relation  of  rights  and  duties  suggests,  however, 
that  political  democracy  can  never  exhaust  the  meaning  of 

3 


4  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

the  term.  For  it  is  evident  that  there  is  something  more 
fundamental  than  popular  sovereignty.  Plato  long  since 
pointed  out  in  his  Republic,  the  political  Bible  of  western  civi- 
lization, that  justice  is  the  supreme  test  we  must  apply  to  the 
solution  of  the  social  problem.  Equity,  therefore,  is  more 
fundamental  to  democracy  than  popular  sovereignty.  We 
stress  the  rule  of  the  people  because  of  our  faith  in  it  as  an 
instrument  for  securing  equality.  DeTocqueville  in  his  pene- 
trating study  of  the  third  decade  of  the  last  century  found  the 
notion  of  equality  fundamental  in  our  conception  of  democracy. 
So  enamored  are  Americans  of  equality,  said  he,  that  they 
would  rather  be  equal  in  slavery  than  unequal  in  freedom.  The 
egalitarianism  of  Jacksonian  democracy  is  still  much  in  evi- 
dence. We  constantly  exalt  it  above  the  much  more  plastic  and 
spiritual  idea  of  freedom.  The  average  American  is  inclined  to 
look  upon  equality  as  ultimate  and  final.  It  is  preached  as 
the  goal  of  democratic  strivings.  The  test  of  institutions  is 
seen  in  the  extent  to  which  they  assure  equality.  Men  are 
not  critical  enough  to  inquire  whether  this  equality  is  real  or 
artificial,  whether  it  is  the  absolute  end  or  whether  it  is  merely 
an  instrument  for  the  attainment  of  something  else. 

In  reality  equality  is  not  ultimate  even  in  a  democracy. 
It  will  always  remain  more  or  less  a  fiction.  Nature  and 
heredity  have  weighted  the  scales  against  it.  At  best,  equality 
is  a  social  program  for  the  control  and  utilization  of  the 
inequalities  that  are  inevitable  and  even  necessary  to  a  pro- 
gressive society.  For  progress  demands  inequality  as  well  as 
equality.  A  progressive  civilization,  such  as  that  of  Periclean 
Athens,  combines  brilliant  variations  with  wise  social  insti- 
tutions for  the  utilization  of  talent  in  the  interest  of  all. 
By  insisting  upon  equality  of  opportunity  we  make  it  possible 
to  select  for  positions  of  power  and  leadership  those  who  are 
possessed  of  real  ability.  This  ability  is  then  utilized  by 
society  in  the  elevation  of  human  life  to  a  higher  level  where 
the  principle  of  equality  may  again  be  applied  in  the  interest 
of  further  advancement.  The  utmost  that  can  be  said  for 
equality  is  that  it  is  a  means  by  which  we  regulate  inequality. 


THE  MEANING  OF  DEMOCRACY  5 

It  should  always  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  inequality  is 
fundamental  and  it  is  doubtless  well  that  it  is  so. 

Within  the  last  few  decades  men  are  coming  to  feel  that 
neither  popular  sovereignty  nor  freedom  and  equality  exhaust 
the  notion  of  democracy.  The  term  has  taken  on  a  much  more 
subtle  and  spiritual  connotation.  Deeper  than  the  notion  of 
popular  rule  or  of  equality  is  that  of  fraternity,  of  spiritual  and 
moral  like-mindedness.  It  is  this  community  of  sentiment 
alone  that  vitalizes  the  struggle  for  justice  and  assures  an  intel- 
ligent and  sympathetic  exercise  of  popular  sovereignty.  With- 
out it  Demos  can  be  as  cruel  and  as  arbitrary  as  the  most 
absolute  despot.  The  only  rational  justification  for  referring 
matters  of  highest  import  to  the  popular  will  is  the  existence  of 
a  common  body  of  sentiment  that  is  always  the  court  of  last 
appeal  in  a  democracy.  One  great  gain  that  comes  through  the 
exercise  of  popular  sovereignty  in  fact  is  that  the  sheer  exercise 
of  this  responsibility  organizes  the  sentiments  of  men  in  terms 
of  communal  welfare.  This  body  of  sentiment,  to  be  sure,  does 
not  deal  primarily  with  matters  of  technical  import.  It  centers 
around  comprehensive  norms,  universal  values,  that  concern 
the  group  as  a  whole. 

The  efficiency  of  democratic  rule  depends  in  the  last 
analysis  upon  whether  this  body  of  sentiment  is  thoroughly 
organized  and  self-conscious.  In  so  far  as  these  conditions  are 
met  we  can  speak  of  a  social  conscience  or  a  body  of  authorita- 
tive moral  sentiment  that  always  speaks  the  last  word  on  para- 
mount issues.  The  task  of  democracy,  therefore,  is  primarily 
the  task  of  the  organization,  the  enlightenment  and  the  efficient 
application  of  this  body  of  sentiment  to  the  fundamental  social 
problem  of  living  together  successfully  in  society.  For  the 
accomplishment  of  this  supreme  purpose  popular  rule,  equality 
and  freedom  are  made  use  of  but  merely  as  instruments. 
Democracy  is  in  its  last  analysis  a  mental  attitude,  a  question 
of  the  organization  of  the  sentiments  of  men  and  women. 
Democracy  "  founds  the  common  good  upon  the  common  will, 
in  forming  which  it  bids  every  grown-up,  intelligent  person  to 
take  a  part ". 


6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

§  2.   DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  AVERAGE  MAN 

The  foregoing  discussion  suggests  that  the  problem  of  a 
democracy  is  the  problem  of  the  average  man.  For  the  organi- 
zation of  moral  sentiment  in  the  intelligent  and  effective  fashion 
demanded  in  a  progressive  community  is  ultimately  a  question 
of  the  training  and  discipline  of  the  average  man.  But  first  we 
must  make  clear  what  is  meant  by  the  average  man.  The  term 
has  been  criticized  as  misleading. 

There  is  a  general  principle  in  the  distribution  of  social 
strata,  according  to  which  we  have  at  the  higher  levels  a  small 
group  composed  of  genius  and  talent,  the  elements  that  make 
for  leadership  in  every  community.  At  the  lower  levels  are 
found  the  proletariat,  the  unskilled,  the  illiterate,  and,  lowest 
of  all,  the  defective  and  criminal.  Midway  between  these  lie 
the  masses  which  compose  the  rank  and  file  of  society. 

In  a  democracy  it  is  this  numerically  dominant  mediocrity 
that  controls  the  situation.  The  typical  representative  of  this 
segment  is  the  average  man,  who  is  in  reality  a  mythical  per- 
sonage. But  in  the  actual  working  out  of  democratic  institu- 
tions countless  temperamental,  social,  economic,  political,  or 
cultural  differences  are  ignored  or  eliminated  so  that  the  aver- 
age man  becomes  tremendously  real.  He  becomes  real  through 
the  sheer  weight  of  numbers  and  the  "  steam-roller  "  effect  of 
the  unwritten  law  of  democracy,  namely,  uniformity.  It  is  this 
democratic  abstraction  which  utters  the  last  word  in  the  eternal 
argument.  It  gives  us  our  measures  of  values  from  which 
there  is  no  appeal.  Like  the  golden  calf  of  apostate  Israel  the 
average  man  is  but  the  creation  of  our  own  hands  and  yet  we 
worship  him  as  our  god. 

The  importance  of  the  average  man  lies  not  alone  in  the 
sheer  fact  of  his  numbers  or  in  the  final  and  authoritative 
character  of  his  pronouncements.  It  is  the  average  man  who 
is  affected  first  and  most  fundamentally  by  any  wide-reaching 
modifications  of  the  social  process.  For  the  average  man,  as 
opposed  to  the  selected  and  highly  institutionalized  members  of 
the  community,  is  most  exposed  to  forces  that  make  for  social 


DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  AVERAGE  MAN  7 

changes.  Where  taxes  are  increased,  health  regulations 
altered,  educational  requirements  modified,  or  any  changes 
made  in  municipal  or  civic  life,  it  is  always  the  average  man 
upon  whom  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the  new  experience  first 
registers  itself.  To  be  sure,  the  average  man  as  a  rule  tends 
to  resist  these  changes.  Habit  and  inertia  dominate  his  life 
for  the  most  part.  Changes  in  his  thought  and  conduct  come 
through  the  sheer  pull  and  haul  of  social  pressure  and  the  need 
for  readjustments.  But  for  the  very  reason  that  the  need  for 
readjustments  is  felt  by  the  average  man  first  and  because  this 
need  affects  his  daily  round  most  fundamentally,  his  reactions 
take  precedence  over  everything  else. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  in  history  the  great  social 
upheavals  have  come  from  the  masses  rather  than  from  the 
intellectuals  or  the  propertied  classes.  This  is  illustrated  in  the 
France  of  Rousseau  and  in  modern  Russia.  For  in  the  last 
analysis  it  is  the  shaping  of  the  sensibilities  of  the  common 
man  through  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the  social  machinery 
that  determines  national  policies.  No  movement,  whether 
social  or  political,  can  hope  for  success  that  is  not  in  harmony 
with  this  drift  of  sentiment  as  registered  in  the  experiences 
of  the  average  man.  Public  sentiment  is  very  often  mys- 
terious, obscure,  and  only  dimly  self-conscious.  It  is  a  com- 
posite of  countless  individual  reactions  to  social  situations 
that  vary  infinitely  in  detail.  It  will  be  all  the  more  abor- 
tive and  irrational  among  a  people  such  as  those  of  Russia 
where  the  masses  are  illiterate,  where  effective  political  and 
social  institutions  for  expressing  the  social  will  are  lacking  and 
where,  consequently,  there  is  little  habituation  to  free  demo- 
cratic traditions.  It  will  be  more  effective  and  self-conscious 
in  a  people  such  as  the  English,  schooled  for  centuries  to  think 
and  act  under  liberal  institutions. 

It  is  possible,  therefore,  to  mold  the  sentiments  of  the 
average  man  in  two  ways.  A  despotic  government  may  seek  to 
shape  this  body  of  sentiments  and  control  it  as  a  means  for  the 
perpetuation  of  a  dynastic  establishment.  Prussian  statecraft 
offers  us  an  illustration  of  the  skilful  manipulation  of  the  senti- 


8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

ments  of  the  average  man,  in  the  interest  of  dynastic  ambitions, 
that  is  without  a  parallel  in  all  history.  Fixed  hereditary  class 
distinctions,  military  discipline  together  with  a  bureaucratic 
surveillance  of  the  average  man's  thought  and  life  through  edu- 
cation and  countless  social  regulations  of  a  paternalistic  order 
have  held  the  loyalties  of  the  German  people  to  outworn  feu- 
dalistic  ideals.  The  world  and  the  German  people  themselves 
are  paying  the  bitter  penalty  for  their  docile,  not  to  say 
servile,  attitude  toward  their  rulers.  The  unpardonable 
sin  of  the  German  beaurocracy  lies  in  the  fact  that  they 
stultified  and  betrayed  the  highest  and  holiest  loyalties  of 
a  people.  They  artfully  blinded  the  eyes  of  a  nation  as  to  its 
destiny. 

A  democracy  follows  a  policy  that  is  just  the  reverse  of 
that  pursued  by  a  dynastic  establishment.  Among  a  free 
people  the  role  of  the  ruler  is  merely  to  interpret  and  so  far 
as  possible  to  secure  effective  realization  of  the  drift  of  senti- 
ment registered  in  the  experience  of  the  average  man.  A  des- 
potic government  assures  for  itself  stability  by  controlling  the 
sentiments  of  the  average  man  in  the  interest  of  a  select  group. 
A  democracy  secures  political  and  national  permanence  by  vest- 
ing the  ultimate  responsibility  for  national  action  in  the  average 
man.  In  the  one  case  the  national  structure  is  precariously 
balanced  upon  its  apex.  In  the  other  it  rests  upon  the  broad 
foundations  of  the  enlightened  sentiments  of  the  masses.  In  a 
despotic  state  the  average  man  barters  away  his  freedom  for 
efficiency,  economy  of  national  resources,  the  comfort  and 
security  of  a  paternalistic  regime,  and  for  national  prestige  and 
power.  In  a  democracy  he  enjoys  the  disciplinary  effect  of 
real  freedom  and  responsibility  but  often  at  the  price  of  waste- 
fulness, inefficiency,  and  political  corruption.  For  the  citizen 
living  under  free  institutions  there  is  no  "  moral  holiday." 

§  3.   THE  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  AVERAGE  MAN 

The  characteristics  of  the  average  man  in  a  democracy  are 
thoroughly  familiar  to  us.  He  is  dominated  by  routine  and 
tradition.  His  philosophy  of  life  consists  for  the  most  part 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  AVERAGE  MAN     9 

of  conventional  principles  that  are  provided  by  pulpit,  party,  or 
counting-house.  On  the  whole  he  is  suspicious  of  ideas,  espe- 
cially if  they  be  new;  thinking  is  irksome  and  largely  unneces- 
sary since  he  finds  that  a  judicious  regard  for  what  "  they  say  " 
will  solve  most  of  his  problems.  The  political  "  spell-binder  " 
and  the  professional  reformer,  to  whose  interest  it  is  to  study 
his  idiosyncrasies,  find  that  a  skilful  appeal  to  his  prejudices  or 
to  his  fixed  ideas  never  fails  to  bring  a  favorable  response.  On 
the  whole,  he  prefers  orthodoxy  to  scholarship  in  his  minister, 
loyalty  to  party  rather  than  political  wisdom  in  his  statesmen, 
the  preservation  of  the  profitable  status  quo  in  his  business 
rather  than  the  sacrifices  necessary  for  the  social  or  economic 
betterment  of  the  community.  Though  our  political  overlord 
he  is  too  often,  in  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells'  phrase,  "  state-blind  ". 
On  the  other  hand,  the  average  man  is  not  without  redeeming 
qualities.  If  it  be  true  that  he  is  shallow  and  prejudiced  these 
failings  are  more  than  offset  perhaps  by  the  homely  but  socially 
valuable  virtues  of  honesty,  patriotism,  and  sympathy.  If  he 
cannot  be  depended  upon  to  start  a  reform,  still  less  is  he' 
inclined  to  become  a  criminal.  His  simple  and  unsophisticated 
existence  places  at  the  disposal  of  the  nation  a  mass  of  thor- 
oughly sane  and  human  sentiments  to  which  we  can  safely 
appeal  in  great  crises. 

It  is  for  the  average  man  that  our  democratic  institutions 
exist;  they  are  supposed  to  be  most  nearly  ideal  in  fact  when 
they  best  reflect  his  view  of  life.  In  literature,  art,  morals,  and 
religion  he  is  the  final  arbiter;  hence  the  questionable  exploita- 
tion of  elemental  human  instincts  in  the  photo-play,  the  glori- 
fication of  obscurantism  in  the  pulpit,  the  tawdry  and  common- 
place sentimentality  of  the  cheap  novel,  the  impossible  wit  of 
the  pink  Sunday  supplement,  the  utterly  inane  songs  of  the 
popular  vaudeville.  No  Oriental  despot  ever  exercised  a  tithe 
of  his  sway  for  he  rules  the  minds,  not  the  bodies,  of  men,  and 
there  is  no  appeal  from  his  arbitrament.  The  choicest  products 
of  literary  or  plastic  art  await  his  sovereign  decision  for  the 
right  to  live.  Preacher,  politician,  advertiser,  teacher,  philoso- 
pher, study  to  know  and  do  his  will.  He  is  the  incarnation  of 


io  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

modern  humanity.    The  salvation  of  society  is  ultimately  the 
salvation  of  the  average  man. 

"  Deep  in  the  breast  of  the  Average  Man, 
The  passions  of  ages  are  swirled, 
And  die  loves  and  the  hates  of  the  Average  Man 
Are  old  as  the  heart  of  the  world — 
For  the  thought  of  the  race  as  we  live  and  we  die 
Is  in  keeping  the  Man  and  the  Average  high." 

Though  ostensibly  the  stalwart  champion  of  intellectual 
freedom  the  average  man  is  often  intolerant  of  new  ideas. 
Free  speech  is,  to  be  sure,  a  conventional  part  of  democratic 
traditions.  One  is  free,  for  example,  to  criticize  the  private  life 
of  a  political  candidate,  even  to  the  extent  of  circulating  down- 
right scandals.  The  average  minister  in  orthodox  Protes- 
tantism is  not  free  to  tell  his  congregation  the  bare  facts  of 
Old  Testament  history  as  they  have  been  established  by  the 
critics.  The  average  man  may  perhaps  be  able  to  stretch  his 
conception  of  tolerance  to  the  extent  of  listening  to  arguments 
against  immortality  or  woman's  rights  but  the  like  free  speech 
in  regard  to  the  monogamous  family,  birth-control,  the  rights 
of  private  property,  protective  tariff,  trade  unions,  or  the 
"  color  line  ",  depending  upon  the  section  concerned,  may  pre- 
cipitate a  torrent  of  disapproval  and  intolerant  abuse. 

Intellectual  freedom  seems  to  suffer  from  certain  disabilities 
which  are  inseparable  from  democracy  itself.  DeToqueville 
contends  that  a  democracy  encourages  superficial  thinking  in 
that  the  individual  citizen  must  constantly  pronounce  upon  the 
profoundest  social,  economic,  or  political  questions  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  sovereign  right  as  a  member  of  a  democracy.  He 
inevitably  falls  into  the  habit  of  thinking  in  ready-made  gen- 
eralities. This  amounts  to  a  surrender  of  intellectual  inde- 
pendence. Furthermore,  the  average  man  is  made  uneasy  by 
new  ideas.  They  suggest  possible  disconcerting  changes  in  the 
social  order;  he  has  neither  the  time  nor  the  ability  perhaps 
to  think  things  through  for  himself  and  prefers  rather  to  bear 
those  ills  he  has  than  fly  to  others  he  knows  not  of.  Hence, 
it  may  be  seriously  doubted  whether  on  great  national  issues 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  AVERAGE  MAN    n 

the  average  man  ever  earnestly  seeks  an  intelligent  compre- 
hension of  the  principles  concerned.  For  this  reason  his  judg- 
ment on  questions  involving  technical  knowledge  is  often  a 
hindrance  to  social  efficiency;  on  a  plain  moral  issue  his 
opinion  is  invaluable. 

Again,  the  average  man  is  hampered  by  the  narrow  margin 
that  is  always  found  between  thought  and  action  in  the  shifting, 
uncertain  conditions  of  American  democracy.  We  have  few  or 
no  social  habits  or  traditions  that  encourage  the  life  of  reflec- 
tion. The  average  American,  especially  in  the  great  industrial 
centers,  is  catapulted  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  in  the  mad 
hurly-burly  of  a  headlong  civilization  that  never  pauses  to  get 
its  bearings  or  to  ask  the  meaning  of  life.  Having  neither  the 
time  nor  the  inclination  to  think,  the  average  man  is  repelled 
by  reflection.  To  him  every  thinker  is  a  potential  rebel,  a 
possible  disturber  of  the  peace.  Since  reflection  alone  gives  to 
men  a  grasp  of  values  and  a  sense  of  perspective  it  is  not 
surprising  that  the  average  man  who  possesses  neither  is  lack- 
ing in  poise.  He  is  the  unhappy  puppet  of  an  imperious  and 
eternal  now.  Imagination  alone  can  emancipate  us  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  present,  from  the  crushing,  maddening  im- 
mediacy of  brute  facts. 

The  anti-intellectualism  of  the  average  man  also  appears  in 
his  "  state-blindness  ".  Tyrannies  even  when  intelligent  are 
objectionable.  But  the  most  intolerable  of  all  tyrannies  is  that 
based  upon  ignorance  and  callous  indifference.  "  State-blind- 
ness "  is  congenital  in  American  democracy.  From  the  days  of 
the  revolutionary  fathers  to  the  present  the  average  American 
has  accepted  state  authority  only  under  protest.  He  began  by 
throwing  off  the  yoke  of  despotism  and  unfortunately  he  has 
always  associated  political  authority  with  that  memorable 
struggle.  Politics  for  the  average  American  to-day  is  merely 
a  necessary  evil.  The  actual  machinery  of  the  state,  political 
leaders,  parties,  platforms,  party  slogans,  interest  him  very 
little;  more  often  they  arouse  feelings  of  disgust  or  ridicule. 
True  he  is  patriotic.  But  the  state  that  elicits  his  patriotism 
is  a  hazy  idealistic  entity  that  bears  about  the  same  relation  to 


12  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

actual  politics  that  the  ethics  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
does  to  the  "  rules  of  the  game  "  in  business.  These  shadowy 
ideals  find  expression  at  Fourth  of  July  celebrations  or  are 
evoked  by  the  name  of  Lincoln  or  the  sight  of  the  flag.  Seldom 
do  they  provide  moral  dynamic  in  dealing  with  the  problems 
of  the  immediate  political  situation. 

The  average  American  prides  himself  upon  his  energy,  his 
business  astuteness,  his  industrial  efficiency,  but  in  many  ways 
his  civic  stupidity  makes  the  world  stand  aghast.  He  cannot  see 
that  the  corrupt  party  leader  whom  year  after  year  he  returns 
to  office  is  not  only  a  bad  investment  from  the  standpoint 
of  political  efficiency  but  is  also  a  degrading  influence  upon 
the  moral  sense  of  the  entire  community.  He  cannot  see  that 
by  supinely  submitting  while  unscrupulous  individuals  exploit 
the  city's  franchises  he  is  cheapening  the  moral  self-respect  of 
the  citizenship  and  rendering  the  economic  struggle  more  diffi- 
cult for  all,  including  himself.  He  cannot  see  that  an  indis- 
pensable background  for  a  noble  and  worthy  citizenship  is 
clean  streets,  efficient  public  service,  honest  officials,  and  a  sen- 
sitive community  conscience.  For  without  these  there  can  be 
no  such  thing  as  civic  pride  and  without  civic  pride  no  man  can 
do  his  best  work,  whether  he  be  an  artist  or  a  hod-carrier.  A 
Michael  Angelo  without  Florence  or  a  Phidias  without  Athens 
would  have  been  unthinkable.  The  hard  and  cruel  alternative, 
"  work  or  starve  ",  which  our  militant  industrialism  offers  the 
toiler,  is  tragic  in  its  short-sighted  selfishness.  It  forgets  that 
the  best  worker  must  love  his  work  and  that  this  is  impossible 
without  a  sense  of  social  worth. 

§  4.   DEMOS,  THE  MODERN  TYRANT 

The  pivotal  position  occupied  by  the  average  man  in  the 
moral  economy  of  a  democracy  was  early  recognized  by 
DeTocqueville.  But  he  saw  in  that  fact  a  most  serious  handi- 
cap to  moral  and  intellectual  progress.  He  thought  that  he 
saw  in  the  American  democracy  of  the  third  decade  of  the  last 
century  the  suggestions  of  a  despotism  more  dangerous  to  the 
welfare  of  man  than  any  the  world  had  ever  known.  It  was  a 


DEMOS,  THE  MODERN  TYRANT         13 

despotism,  he  tells  us,  not  of  the  body  but  of  the  mind.  The 
instruments  of  ancient  tyrants  were  the  thumbscrew,  and  the 
faggot,  fetters,  and  headsmen.  But  they  attacked  the  body 
only  and  were  unable  to  subdue  the  spirit.  Demos,  the  modern 
tyrant,  extends  to  his  victim  physical  freedom  while  seeking 
to  enslave  his  soul.  Death  was  the  penalty  for  revolt  against 
ancient  forms  of  tyranny.  To  the  modern  rebel  Demos  says, 
"  You  are  free  to  think  differently  from  me  and  retain  your 
life,  your  property,  and  all  that  you  possess.  But  if  such  be 
your  course  you  must  be  content  to  live  the  life  of  an  alien  and 
outcast  among  your  own  people.  Civil  rights  to  be  sure  are 
yours,  in  name  at  least,  but  they  will  lack  that  sympathy  and 
sanction  of  your  fellows  without  which  they  are  otiose  privi- 
leges. Honors  and  emoluments  you  may  indeed  seek  at  the 
hands  of  your  fellow  citizens  but  they  will  most  assuredly  be 
denied  you  since  you  have  dared  to  set  your  feeble  will  in 
opposition  to  theirs.  Physical  life  is  yours  but  it  is  not  incom- 
patible with  spiritual  annihilation  at  the  hands  of  the  com- 
munity." The  social,  political,  or  religious  assassinations  daily 
witnessed  under  free  democratic  rule  are  none  the  less  tragic 
because  they  are  bloodless. 

DeTocqueville's  observations  were  based  upon  the  Ameri- 
can democracy  of  the  early  part  of  the  last  century.  At  best 
it  was  but  a  shadow  democracy,  "  the  substance  of  things 
hoped  for,"  for  it  still  tolerated  slavery.  Yet  with  all  its  crude- 
ness  and  inconsistency  American  democracy  had  already  be- 
come self-conscious,  intolerant  and  even  tyrannical.  "  The 
smallest  reproach,"  writes  DeTocqueville,  "  irritates  its  sensi- 
bility, and  the  slightest  joke  that  has  any  foundation  in  truth 
renders  it  indignant;  from  the  style  of  its  language  to  the  more 
solid  virtues  of  its  character  everything  must  be  made  the  sub- 
ject of  encomium.  No  writer,  whatever  be  his  eminence,  can 
escape  from  this  tribute  of  adulation  to  his  fellow-citizens. 
The  majority  lives  in  the  perpetual  practice  of  self-applause, 
and  there  are  certain  truths  which  the  Americans  can  only 
learn  from  strangers  or  from  experience." 

Almost  a  century  later  another  Frenchman  gave  us  a 


i4  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

brilliant  criticism  of  democracy  that  has  much  in  common  with 
the  animadversions  of  DeTocqueville.  Mr.  Faguet  of  the 
French  Academy  insists  that  a  democracy,  because  it  vests  its 
court  of  last  appeal  in  the  average  man,  places  a  premium  upon 
both  intellectual  and  moral  incompetence.  "  The  people  favors 
incompetence,  not  only  because  it  is  no  judge  of  intellectual 
competence  and  because  it  looks  on  moral  competence  from  a 
wrong  point  of  view,  but  because  it  desires  before  everything, 
as  indeed  is  very  natural,  that  its  representatives  should  re- 
semble itself."  1 

There  are,  thinks  Faguet,  two  reasons  for  this  attitude.  In 
the  first  place,  it  is  thoroughly  human  that  the  average  man, 
schooled  by  democratic  institutions  to  think  that  his  will  is 
ultimate  law,  should  wish  to  see  reproduced  in  his  representa- 
tives his  sentiments  and  prejudices.  The  average  man,  there- 
fore, instinctively  chooses  men  with  education,  mental  attitudes 
and  manners  similar  to  his  own.  In  the  second  place,  moral 
progress  is  hindered  by  a  vicious  interpretation  of  the  great 
democratic  principle  of  equality.  The  average  man  tends  "  to 
exclude  the  competent  precisely  because  they  are  competent, 
or  if  the  phrase  pleases  better  and  as  the  popular  advocate 
would  put  it,  not  because  they  are  competent  but  because  they 
are  unequal,  or  as  he  would  probably  go  on  to  say,  if  he 
wished  to  excuse  such  action,  not  because  they  are  unequal, 
but  because  being  unequal  they  are  suspected  of  being  op- 
ponents of  equality  ". 

This  militates  against  moral  progress  in  two  ways.  It 
places  a  premium  upon  herd  morality  with  its  glorification 
of  mere  conventional  goodness  besides  condemning  the  moral 
experience  of  men  to  a  vicious  circle  that  makes  progress  im- 
possible. Of  course  such  a  measure  of  moral  values  auto- 
matically eliminates  the  expert  who  to-day  must  lead  the  way 
to  the  solution  of  our  problems.  The  only  sort  of  specialist 
who  thrives  under  such  a  regime  is  the  professional  politician 
whom  Faguet  characterizes  as  "  a  man  who,  in  respect  of  his 
personal  opinions,  is  a  nullity,  in  respect  of  education,  a  medi- 
1  The  Cult  of  Incompetence,  p.  29. 


THE  FALLACY  OF  MERE  GOODNESS  15 

ocrity,  he  shares  the  general  sentiments  and  passions  of  the 
crowd,  his  sole  occupation  is  politics,  and  if  that  career  were 
closed  to  him,  would  die  of  starvation  ".  Such,  in  brief,  is 
the  statement  of  the  case  by  Faguet  to  show  that  there  are 
elements  in  democracy  inherently  opposed  to  moral  progress. 

That  the  average  member  of  a  democratic  order  should  be 
inclined  to  magnify  the  conventional  moral  excellencies  com- 
mon to  the  masses  is,  as  Faguet  says,  entirely  natural.  It  is 
but  another  form  of  the  fundamental  impulse  to  group  self- 
preservation.  There  is,  after  all,  no  other  way  for  democracy 
to  secure  that  continuity  of  tradition  that  will  insure  its  per- 
sistence. 

It  is  inevitable,  furthermore,  that  democracy  should  exhibit 
the  defects  of  its  qualities.  This  is  all  the  more  to  be  expected 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  democracy  is  still  in  the  tentative  and 
experimental  stage.  If  it  be  true,  as  Montesquieu  suggests, 
that  governments  err  quite  as  frequently  through  the  over- 
emphasis of  the  principles  for  which  they  stand  as  through  the 
neglect  of  them,  it  may  very  well  be  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  defeating  democracy  through  overmuch  democracy. 
Certainly  it  is  true  that  the  over-democratization  of  the  con- 
ventional ideals  of  goodness  represented  by  the  average  man 
will  tend  to  defeat  the  ends  of  democracy.  This  is  a  matter 
of  such  importance  that  it  demands  a  more  detailed  analysis. 

§  5.   THE  FALLACY  OF  MERE  GOODNESS 

Democracies  are  especially  prone  to  magnify  conventional 
goodness.  "  Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever," 
comes  nearer  than  we  are  aware  to  expressing  the  ethical  ideal 
of  the  average  American  or  Englishman.  This  is  strikingly 
illustrated  in  the  masterpieces  of  English  literature.  If  we  call 
the  roll  of  Shakespeare's  characters,  we  find  the  great  sinners, 
lago,  Richard,  Lady  Macbeth,  Cleopatra,  Goneril,  keenly  intel- 
lectual, while  Bassanio,  Lear,  Ophelia,  Juliet,  Desdemona,  and 
Miranda,  the  heroes  and  heroines,  must  be  content  with  mere 
goodness.  It  is  not  different  with  the  novel.  In  Dickens  in- 
evitably the  meed  of  intellect  goes  to  Quilp,  Tulkinghorn,  or 


i6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

Uriah  Keep,  while  Dick  Swiveller,  David  Copperfield,  and  Mr. 
Pickwick  exude  honest,  unenlightened  goodness.  It  has  been 
said  that  "  Milton  makes  his  Satan  so  thoughtful,  so  persistent 
and  liberty-loving,  so  magnanimous,  and  God  so  illogical,  so 
heartless  and  repressive,  that  many  perfectly  moral  readers 
fear  lest  Milton,  like  the  modern  novelists,  may  have  known 
good  and  evil,  but  could  not  tell  them  apart  ".1 

We  are  not  concerned  here  to  trace  this  curious  idiosyn- 
crasy of  Anglo-Saxon  ethics  to  its  roots  in  national  psychology. 
It  may  very  well  be,  as  often  asserted,  that  the  stern  struggle 
of  our  ancestors  with  an  inhospitable  climate  has  tended  to 
emphasize  will  and  character  rather  than  intelligence,  though 
it  is  difficult  to  see  why.  Montesquieu  was  doubtless  nearer 
right  when  he  asserted  that  the  discipline  of  a  popular  govern- 
ment tends  to  place  a  premium  upon  virtue  in  the  sense  of 
conventionalized  democratic  moral  excellence.  What  interests 
us  more  is  the  vicious  reasoning  that  underlies  this  fallacy  of 
mere  goodness.  Professor  Erskine  has  well  stated  it.  "  Here 
is  the  causal  assumption  that  a  choice  must  be  made  between 
goodness  and  intelligence;  that  stupidity  is  first  cousin  to 
moral  conduct,  and  cleverness  the  first  step  into  mischief;  that 
reason  and  God  are  not  on  good  terms  with  each  other;  that 
the  mind  and  the  heart  are  rival  buckets  in  the  well  of  truth, 
inexorably  balanced — full  mind,  starved  heart — stout  heart, 
weak  head."  Science  is  doing  much  to  deliver  us  from  the 
fallacy  of  mere  goodness.  Most  of  us  now  no  longer  insist 
that  the  dentist  who  extracts  an  aching  tooth  shall  be  a  saint. 

It  has  been  said,  "  Scarcely  for  a  righteous  man  will  one 
die:  yet  peradventure  for  a  good  man  some  would  even  dare 
to  die  ".  Why  this  willingness  to  die  for  the  good  man?  The 
answer  is  found  in  the  relation  of  the  good  man  to  the  con- 
ventional moral  sentiment  embodied  in  the  social  conscience. 
The  good  man  is  the  moral  beau  ideal  of  his  generation  and 
age.  It  goes  without  saying  that  good  men  for  whom  the 
world  is  willing  to  die  vary  immensely  from  age  to  age.  The 

1  Erskine,  "The  Moral  Obligation  to  be  Intelligent,"  The  Hibbert 
Journal,  Vol.  XII,  p.  175. 


THE  FALLACY  OF  MERE  GOODNESS  17 

good  man  in  every  case,  however,  is  one  who  in  his  character 
embodies  to  the  highest  degree  those  types  of  sentiment  that 
are  deemed  praiseworthy.  In  other  words,  the  enthusiasm  for 
the  good  man  is  merely  the  enthusiasm  for  the  most  concrete 
embodiment  of  those  things  that  an  age  esteems  supremely 
worth  while.  To  die  for  the  good  man  is  in  a  certain  sense  to 
die  for  the  eternal  and  universal  human  values  as  a  given  age 
interprets  them.  In  sacrificing  oneself  for  him  we  are  in  reality 
sacrificing  ourselves  for  the  best  there  is  in  the  race. 

This  enthusiasm,  however,  is  often  difficult  to  harmonize 
with  the  critical  point  of  view.  When  dealing  with  universal 
emotional  loyalties,  with  deeply  implanted  mental  attitudes,  we 
often  find  that  they  defy  reason.  Their  very  universality  is 
confusing.  We  are  like  the  mariner  adrift  without  compass  or 
landmark  on  the  bosom  of  the  Gulf  Stream.  This  enthusiasm 
functions  in  an  atmosphere  that  is  so  comprehensive  and  subtle 
that  we  cannot  free  ourselves  from  it.  We  are  unable  to  set 
ourselves  over  against  it  as  we  must  do  in  the  critical  exercise 
of  the  intellect.  The  situation  is  similar  to  that  of  the  man 
of  the  middle  ages  with  his  uncritical  enthusiasm  for  holiness. 
It  incapacitated  him  for  passing  a  trustworthy  judgment 
upon  the  character  of  the  saint  and  his  acts,  as  is  illustrated 
in  the  story  of  Saint  Crispin  stealing  shoes  for  the  poor.  How 
often  do  movements  for  reform  shipwreck  against  this  per- 
vasive, conventional,  and  uncritical  ideal  of  the  good  man? 
The  city  "  boss  "  who  judiciously  distributes  fat  turkeys  among 
the  poor  of  his  precinct  and  manages  to  intermingle  genuine 
sympathy  with  his  acts  of  kindness,  is  shrewdly  enlisting  in 
his  behalf  the  conventional  moral  sentiments  of  the  average 
man.  Against  this  no  amount  of  moral  harangues  or  abstract 
appeals  to  civic  righteousness  on  the  part  of  the  reformer  can 
ever  avail.  "Scarcely  for  a  righteous  man  will  one  die:  yet 
peradventure  for  a  good  man  some  would  even  dare  to 
die." 

This  worship  of  conventional  goodness  is  primarily  respon- 
sible for  the  mistake  of  confusing  the  enthusiasm  of  the  politi- 
cal, religious,  or  moral  reformer  with  the  moral  excellence  of 


i8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

his  own  character  or  of  the  cause  he  represents.  The  passion- 
ate eulogy  of  Lincoln  by  the  political  leader  is  often  but  a 
clever  way  of  convincing  the  hearer  of  the  essential  similarity 
between  the  orator's  own  character  and  the  principles  of  his 
party  with  the  character  and  ideals  of  the  great  emancipator. 
This  sort  of  moral  camouflage  is  made  all  the  easier  because 
for  the  average  American  ideals  of  social  justice  or  of  political 
righteousness  float  in  an  opalescent  and  ill-defined  sea  of  un- 
critical enthusiasms  and  glittering  generalities.  We  are  not 
accustomed  to  associate  our  moral  enthusiasms  with  concrete 
political  problems  and  situations.  The  very  remoteness  of 
habitual  loyalties  of  the  higher  sort,  therefore,  makes  it  all  the 
easier  to  play  upon  them  in  the  interest  of  unrighteous  or 
doubtful  causes. 

We  must  seek  the  explanation  of  the  force  of  conventional 
goodness  in  the  "  sets  "  of  the  emotional  life  of  the  average 
man.  The  logic  of  the  emotions  is  very  simple  and  unequivo- 
cal. Every  emotion  or  sentiment  is  its  own  justification.  It 
insists  that  whatever  is  is  right.  For  it  is  a  familiar  fact  that 
powerful  and  highly  organized  systems  of  sentiments  tend  to 
create  their  own  measure  of  values,  their  own  virtues  and  vices. 
So  long  as  fixed  traditional  systems  of  sentiment  are  permitted 
to  flourish  without  let  or  hindrance  in  the  social  conscience  of 
a  community  real  moral  progress  is  impossible.  The  self- 
preservative  impulses  of  these  systems  will  insure  the  per- 
sistence of  conventional  and  artificial  moral  values  that  do  not 
connect  in  any  vital  fashion  with  the  needs  of  society.  Men 
are  prone  to  identify  truth  or  moral  worth  with  the  satisfaction 
of  habitual  ways  of  feeling  and  thinking.  Hence,  in  many 
passionate  appeals  to  religious  or  moral  ideals  both  speaker 
and  hearer  are  merely  marking  time.  The  emotional  glow  of 
the  enthusiasm  aroused  by  traversing  the  beaten  path  of 
ancient  loyalties  is  mistaken  for  progress  and  the  triumph  of 
the  right. 

It  would  appear,  therefore,  that  the  problem  of  democ- 
racy is  twofold.  It  is  concerned  with  the  organization  and 
maintenance  of  an  authoritative  body  of  sentiment  and  its 


THE  PARADOX  OF  DEMOCRACY         19 

successful  application  to  problems  as  they  arise.  The  social 
conscience  in  this  sense  provides  the  moral  ballast  of  the  com- 
munity. The  average  man  is  the  great  conserver  of  values. 
But  this  body  of  sentiment,  to  be  socially  effective,  must  be 
hospitable  to  new  ideas;  it  must  from  time  to  time  undergo 
reorganization.  A  self-conscious  democracy  is  a  progressive 
democracy.  The  severest  test  of  a  social  order  is  the  recon- 
ciliation of  these  two  phases.  The  one  is  authoritative,  con- 
servative, backward-looking;  the  other  is  critical,  iconoclastic, 
forward-looking.  We  have  here  the  recurrence  in  democratic 
form  of  the  problem  that  is  as  old  as  civilization  itself,  namely, 
the  problem  of  reconciling  liberty  and  law,  authority  and 
freedom. 

§  6.   THE  PARADOX  OF  DEMOCRACY 

This  analysis  of  the  characteristics  of  the  average  man 
brings  us  face  to  face  with  a  paradox  which  has  puzzled  more 
than  one  student  of  democracy.  In  the  light  of  the  prejudices 
and  intellectual  limitations  of  the  average  citizen  which  we 
have  just  sketched,  the  question  may  well  be  asked  how  are 
we  to  justify  the  appeal  democracy  is  constantly  making  to  his 
judgment  for  the  settlement  of  fundamental  issues?  Macaulay, 
Lecky,  and  Peel  have  asserted  that  since  the  masses  are  con- 
fessedly ignorant  of  statecraft  and  of  moral  philosophy  their 
rule  must  necessarily  be  one  of  ignorance  and  incompetency. 
The  apotheosis  of  the  average  man  is,  as  Faguet  contends, 
merely  the  cult  of  incompetence. 

On  the  other  hand,  Bryce  states  that  "  Where  the  humbler 
classes  have  differed  in  opinion  from  the  higher,  they  have 
often  been  proved  by  the  event  to  have  been  right  and  their 
so-called  betters  wrong  ".  Indeed  it  has  been  asserted  that 
"  There  has  never  been  a  period  in  our  history,  since  the 
American  nation  was  independent,  when  it  would  not  have  been 
a  calamity  to  have  it  controlled  by  its  highly  educated  men 
alone  ".  It  would  be  unfair  perhaps  to  infer  from  this  that 
learning  or  culture  per  se  unfits  a  man  for  pronouncing  upon 
moral  issues.  But  it  is  doubtless  true  that  the  specialization 


20  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

of  work  and  the  concentration  of  energies  in  the  case  of  the 
markedly  successful  business  man,  lawyer,  physician,  or  scien- 
tist, inevitably  induce  a  narrowing  of  interests.  The  price  paid 
for  success  in  a  chosen  profession  is  too  often  an  institution- 
alizing of  thought  and  of  feeling.  Every  social  reformer  must 
know  from  experience  the  truth  of  Mr.  Lloyd's  statement  in  his 
Man  the  Social  Creator,  "  Seldom  does  the  new  conscience 
when  it  seeks  a  teacher  to  declare  to  men  what  is  wrong,  find 
him  in  the  dignitaries  of  the  church,  the  state,  the  culture  that 
is.  The  higher  the  rank,  the  closer  the  tie  that  binds  those  to 
what  is  but  what  ought  not  to  be."  The  unsophisticated  sanity 
of  the  average  man,  therefore,  gives  to  his  utterances  upon 
moral  questions  a  validity  not  possessed  by  the  opinion  of  the 
scholar  or  the  pronunciamentos  of  the  successful  business 
man  hopelessly  committed  to  group  interests. 

For  this  reason  we  have  made  the  average  man  the  keeper 
of  the  conscience  of  the  community.  Moral  valuations  are  not 
merely  a  matter  of  the  intellectual  appreciation  of  the  situa- 
tion. The  old  Socratic  dictum  that  insight  will  always  bring 
right  action  has  long  since  been  discarded  as  an  ethical  prin- 
ciple. At  best,  insight  merely  puts  one  in  the  position  to  do  the 
right  thing.  We  must  have  in  addition  the  driving  power  of 
the  affections.  The  springs  of  moral  action  are  ever  in  intimate 
association  with  the  homely  but  sane  and  powerful  sentiments 
that  find  expression  in  the  marriage  tie,  love  of  offspring, 
normal  and  healthful  occupations,  and  community  interests. 
The  secret  of  moral  sanity  is  found,  therefore,  in  living  a  well- 
balanced  and  thoroughly  human  existence  through  which  these 
fundamental  interests  may  best  find  expression.  Our  tense 
industrial  centers  with  their  selfish  profitism,  their  ruthless 
exploitation  of  man  and  nature,  doubtless  militate  against  the 
healthful  functioning  of  the  basal  human  impulses.  In  the 
mad  pursuit  of  economic  gains,  social  preferment,  or  the 
tawdry  pleasures  of  our  highly  artificial  city  life,  the  sober, 
persistent  human  values  are  often  utterly  lost  from  view. 
Doubtless  this  explains  why  we  find  the  unbiased  moral  judg- 
ment of  our  village  and  agricultural  communities  most  trust- 


THE  PARADOX  OF  DEMOCRACY  21 

worthy  on  great  moral  issues.  If  there  the  current  of  life  is 
more  monotonous  it  is  also  more  normal.  It  is  hard  not  to  see 
some  connection  between  the  freedom,  the  vigor,  and  the  sanity 
of  western  democracy  and  the  healthful  environment  of 
its  citizenship.  No  individual  or  group  of  individuals  whose 
broad  human  sympathies  have  been  warped  or  vitiated  through 
abnormal  social  or  economic  conditions  can  be  trusted  to  decide 
aright  great  moral  issues. 

For  good  or  ill  we  have  committed  our  destinies  to  the  keep- 
ing of  the  average  man.  Often  we  grow  restless  at  his 
blunders;  we  despair  over  his  stupidity.  It  is  easy  to  criticize 
him,  for  his  faults  are  writ  large  in  the  chronicles  of  passing 
events;  he  has  nothing  to  conceal.  At  best,  however,  he  is 
more  deserving  of  sympathy  than  of  censure.  For  he  lives  in 
an  age  unlike  any  other  in  its  desperate  need  of  an  understand- 
ing of  the  real  meaning  of  life.  The  increment  of  human 
experience  has  far  outrun  our  ability  to  give  it  rational  inter- 
pretation and  evaluation.  We  are  overmastered,  bewildered, 
even  appalled  at  life's  increasing  complexity,  its  tragic  revela- 
tions of  the  ape  and  the  tiger.  We  need  as  never  before  a 
philosophy  of  values,  not  a  philosophy  that  moons  over  the 
eternal  puzzles  of  metaphysics,  that  tries  to  catch  the  drift  of 
the  cosmic  weather,  but  a  philosophy  that  will  give  us  a  helpful 
evaluation  of  the  immediate  and  insistent  facts  of  experience. 
Perhaps  we  may  adapt  to  the  average  man  and  his  problems 
Bernard  Shaw's  somewhat  irreverent  remark  as  to  the  Deity 
and  say,  "  Don't  pity  him.  Help  him." 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I.  Books :  ADDAMS,  J. :  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  1902 ;  ALLEN, 
W.  H. :  Efficient  Democracy,  1907 ;  CROLY,  H.  C. :  Progressive  Democracy, 
1914;  TOCQUEVILLE,  ALEXIS  DE  :  Democracy  in  America,  1835;  FAGUET, 
EMILE:  The  Cult  of  Incompetence,  1912;  FOLLETT,  M.  P.:  The  New  State, 
1918 ;  GIDDINGS,  F.  H. :  Democracy  and  Empire,  1900 ;  GODKIN,  E.  L. : 
Problems  of  Modern  Democracy,  1896;  Unforeseen  Tendencies  of 
Democracy,  1898;  HOBHOUSE,  L.  T. :  Democracy  and  Reaction,  1904; 
LEE,  G.  E. :  Crowds:  A  Moving -Picture  of  Democracy,  1913 ;  LOWELL, 
A.  L. :  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government,  1913 ;  MALLOCK, 
W.  H. :  Limits  of  Pure  Democracy,  1918;  RQDRIGUES,  G. :  The  People 


22  THE  PROBLEM  OF  DEMOCRACY 

of  Action:  An  Essay  on  American  Idealism,  1918;  SLOANE,  W.  ML:  The 
Powers  and  Aims  of  Western  Democracy,  1919;  TUFTS,  J.  H. :  Our 
Democracy,  1918;  WEYL,  W.  E. :  The  New  Democracy,  1912. 

2.  Articles:  LLOYD,  A.:  "The  Duplicity  of  Democracy."  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  21,  pp.  i  ff. ;  MECKLIN,  J.  M. :  "  The  Tyranny 
of  the  Average  Man."  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  28,  pp.  240  ff. 
Free  use  has  been  made  of  this  article  in  the  foregoing  chapter. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

WE  have  seen  that  in  a  democracy  the  court  of  last  appeal  on 
great  moral  issues  is  vested  in  the  enlightened  sentiments  of 
the  common  man.  But  this  authoritative  body  of  moral  ideals 
which  the  common  man  shares  with  his  fellows  is  a  slow 
growth.  It  presupposes  prolonged  social  habituation.  It  be- 
comes authoritative  only  after  it  has  been  worked  into  the 
texture  of  the  individual's  thought  and  life.  And  this  in  turn 
presupposes  the  disciplinary  effect  of  stable  institutions  that 
persist  relatively  unchanged  through  long  periods  of  years. 
Hence  we  have  the  somewhat  paradoxical  situation  that  the 
measures  of  moral  values  applied  by  the  common  man  to  the 
problems  of  to-day  are  for  the  most  part  the  products  of  the 
organizations  of  moral  sentiments  that  took  place  in  the  past. 
We  must  approach  the  problem  of  the  social  conscience,  there- 
fore, in  the  light  of  the  historic  perspective.  We  have  to 
ask,  then,  what  are  the  antecedents  of  the  moral  ideals  preva- 
lent to-day  in  American  life? 

§  i.   THE  PREDOMINANT  RELIGIOUS  INTEREST 

The  earliest  traces  of  what  might  be  called  a  social  con- 
science in  America  were  intimately  associated  with  religion. 
This  was  due  to  the  fact  that  American  colonization  at  first 
took  on,  for  the  most  part,  the  form  of  religious  communities. 
The  Puritan  commonwealth  of  New  England,  the  Scotch-Irish 
of  Pennsylvania  and  the  South,  the  Baptists  of  Rhode  Island, 
the  Quakers  of  Philadelphia,  not  to  mention  less  important 
groups,  were  the  nuclei  from  which  social  and  national  con- 
sciousness slowly  developed.  Religious  loyalties,  which  now 
serve  merely  to  create  denominational  associations  scattered 

23 


24        THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

throughout  the  nation,  gave  rise  in  the  beginning  to  community 
groups  as  well  as  sects. 

It  has  been  affirmed  by  an  able  and  sympathetic  student  of 
things  American  that  "  The  Puritan  is  the  heart  of  American 
civilization."  l  This  statement  would  of  course  be  challenged 
by  other  authorities.  Viewing  our  polyglot  American  civiliza- 
tion of  to-day,  in  which  the  original  Puritan  element  has  been 
submerged  by  later  streams  of  immigration,  the  superficial  ob- 
server is  often  inclined  to  minimize  the  influence  of  the  Puritan. 
But  an  intensive  study  of  the  background  of  American  ideals, 
an  analysis  for  example  of  the  great  philosophical  concepts 
underlying  our  idea  of  the  state,  an  examination  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  business  enterprise  and  of  the  ideals  that  gave  rise  to 
modern  capitalism,  and  finally  a  knowledge  of  those  forces  that 
have  shaped  our  literary  and  artistic  ideals  will  show  that  no 
other  spiritual  element  in  our  national  life  has  exercised  an  in- 
fluence at  all  comparable  with  that  of  Puritanism  and  its 
affiliated  groups. 

This  is  due  primarily  to  the  fact  that  the  two  groups  which 
were  among  the  most  numerous  and  by  far  the  most  energetic 
and  self-assertive  at  the  time  when  the  national  ideals  were 
seeking  formulation  were  the  Puritans  and  the  Scotch-Irish  who 
have  been  called  "  the  Puritans  of  the  South  ".  The  Puritan 
moved  westward  from  New  England,  through  New  York  and 
Ohio,  and  finally  mingled  like  a  saving  leaven  among  the 
heterogeneous  elements  that  populated  the  middle  and  far 
West.  The  Scotch-Irish  moved  south  from  Pennsylvania  until 
they  were  joined  by  another  stream  from  the  Carolinas  and 
played  a  dominant  role  in  determining  the  political  and  moral 
ideals  of  the  South  and  Southwest.  The  Puritans  and  Scotch- 
Irish,  thanks  to  their  Calvinistic  training,  had  more  in  common 
than  any  other  two  elements  of  our  national  life.  They  came 
largely  from  the  educated  and  economically  independent 
middle  class  of  the  British  Isles  and  were  in  reality  highly 
selected  groups. 

Calvinism  was  of  course  the  religious  faith  of  Puritans  and 

1  A.  M.  Low,  The  American  People,  p.  97. 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  DUTIES  25 

Scotch-Irish.  This  great  creed  had  many  intimate  affiliations 
with  the  faith  of  other  groups  that  cannot  be  classed  strictly 
as  Puritans.  The  Dutch  of  New  York  were  Calvinists.  The 
Huguenots  of  the  South,  who  exercised  an  influence  in  the  life 
of  the  nation  far  out  of  proportion  to  their  numbers,  were  the 
spiritual  offspring  of  John  Calvin  of  Geneva.  The  liberty- 
loving  Baptists  of  Rhode  Island  as  well  as  the  Episcopalians 
of  Virginia  had  theological  affiliations  with  Calvinism.  More- 
over, the  spirit  of  religious  revolt,  shared  by  all  groups,  found 
common  ground  in  the  militant,  uncompromising  creed  of 
Calvin.  It  provided  the  champion  of  liberty  with  the  polemical 
material  he  needed.  Here  were  effective  weapons  for  the  bitter 
warfare  against  ignorance  and  superstition  in  high  places. 
Here  was  abundant  justification  for  resisting  the  social  injus- 
tice, the  political  absolutism  and  the  intellectual  tyranny  that 
had  become  ingrained  in  European  society.  The  finality  of 
Calvinism,  its  logical  coherence,  its  combination  of  intense 
political  and  religious  loyalties  with  a  high  sense  of  duty,  its 
emphasis  of  prudence  and  thrift  in  practical  affairs,  all  united 
to  lend  it  an  appeal  not  shared  by  any  other  creed  of 
Protestantism. 

It  is  well  worth  asking  why  a  creed  so  lofty,  so  logically 
complete,  so  charged  with  potentialities  for  developing  the 
heroic  spirit,  has  been  held  responsible  by  critics  for  the  "  cen- 
trifugal expediency  "  of  our  political  life,  the  "  catch-penny 
opportunism  "  of  business,  and  the  literary  camouflage  that 
masquerades  as  art  in  the  form  of  the  "  best-seller  ".  By  what 
right  do  we  lay  at  the  door  of  the  theology  of  John  Calvin  the 
blame  for  the  "  glassy,  inflexible  priggishness "  that  so 
nauseates  the  critic  of  American  life?  The  question  is  one 
that  cannot  be  answered  intelligently  without  some  insight  into 
the  spirit  of  Calvinism. 

§  2.   THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CALVINISM:  POLITICAL 
RIGHTS  AND  DUTIES 

Calvinism  as  a  system  of  thought  has  two  poles,  the 
absolute  sovereignty  of  God  and  the  utter  depravity  of  man. 


26         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

As  an  historical  movement  Calvinism  has  come  to  be  identi- 
fied with  a  group  of  ideas  and  prepossessions  in  theology, 
church  polity,  and  morals  that  grew  out  of  the  acceptance  of 
the  complete  supremacy  of  the  will  of  God  in  the  life  of  the 
individual  and  of  society.  Calvinism,  likewise,  has  been  called 
"  the  creed  of  an  agonized  conscience  ".  The  Geneva  to  which 
Calvin  made  his  appeal  needed  the  moral  tonic  of  his  theology 
for  internal  social  reforms  as  well  as  to  make  front  against 
the  political  ambitions  of  Savoy.  For  similar  reasons  Cal- 
vinism gained  a  tremendous  hold  upon  the  middle  classes  of 
the  England  of  the  seventeenth  century.  It  satisfied  the  de- 
mands of  moral  sensibilities  outraged  by  the  excesses  of  the 
upper  classes.  For  it  is  obvious  that  the  moral  or  spiritual 
leader  who  is  uncertain  as  to  the  fundamental  issues  of  life, 
who  can  point  to  no  inherent  and  comprehensive  purpose 
underlying  surface  changes,  or  who  can  offer  no  definite 
measures  of  values  to  men  adrift  from  their  ancient  moorings 
and  suffering  from  the  pangs  of  conscience,  has  small  chance 
of  success. 

Starting  with  the  central  idea  of  the  sovereignty  of  God, 
everything  in  the  universe  from  a  solar  system  to  a  dewdrop 
becomes  intelligible  and  real  only  as  it  shares  in  this  rational 
unfolding  of  the  divine  will.  The  logic  of  Calvinism  and  the 
practical  spirit  of  the  people  among  whom  it  flourished  de- 
manded a  political,  social,  and  economic  mise  en  scene  not  only 
hi  sympathy  with  but  integrally  related  to  this  divine  plan. 
Political  justice,  business  honesty,  and  integrity  in  social  rela- 
tions were  matters  of  a  rationally  and  intelligently  ordered 
life.  Insight  was  for  Calvin,  as  for  Socrates,  the  key  to  the 
virtuous  life  but  with  one  very  important  difference.  f  The  in- 
sight demanded  by  the  Calvinistic  scheme  took  in  the  entire 
sweep  and  purpose  of  the  universe.  To  perform  the  right  act 
even  in  the  most  insignificant  details  of  life  was  to  place  one- 
self in  harmony  with  the  eternal  order  of  things.  To  do  wrong 
was  to  defy  the  universe  and  the  God  who  created  it.  Sin  for 
the  Calvinist  was  thus  cosmic,  not  social  in  its  implications; 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  DUTIES  27 

its  heinousness  was  measured  in  terms  of  the  responsibility  of 
daring  to  disrupt  the  universe. 

The  drama  of  life,  therefore,  for  the  Calvinist  took  place 
in  a  closed  system,  an  infinite  spiritual  and  moral  order  that 
included  the  birth  and  death  of  worlds  as  well  as  the  petty 
fate  of  the  darling  ambitions  of  the  humblest  human  hearts. 
In  this  indefectible  moral  order  the  social,  political,  religious, 
or  economic  responsibilities  of  the  individual  were  evaluated 
not  in  terms  of  emotional  experiences,  for  like  all  rationalists 
the  Calvinist  distrusted  the  emotions,  but  in  terms  of  the  In- 
finite Reason  who  saw  all  things  in  clear  perspective,  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end.  For  this  reason  the  ultimate  sanction  of 
law  and  the  source  of  political  sovereignty  were  for  the  Cal- 
vinist religious  in  nature.  In  an  interesting  memoir  presented 
in  1580  to  the  council  of  Geneva  by  the  ministers  of  the  city 
occurs  this  statement:  "  We  hold  it  for  a  point  entirely  certain 
(tout  resolu),  that  no  magistrate,  no  matter  how  lofty  or  sov- 
ereign he  be,  may  attribute  to  himself  full  power  either  to 
punish  crimes  or  to  pardon  them  in  part  or  in  whole  as  it  seems 
good  to  him  ".  The  reason  assigned  for  this  is  that  "  the  full 
power  is  reserved  for  God  only,  who  has  pity  and  condemnation 
when  and  upon  whomsoever  he  pleases.  For  his  good  pleasure 
is  the  perpetual  and  infallible  rule  of  all  justice  ". 

In  the  background  of  the  political  philosophy  of  Calvinism, 
therefore,  hovered  a  conception  closely  akin  to  the  Stoic  notion 
of  jus  naturale.  The  principles  of  this  eternal  and  indefectible 
order  of  righteousness,  the  expression  of  the  will  of  God,  were 
given  most  fully  in  revelation.  They  are  traceable  also  in 
man's  own  conscience  and  in  nature.  The  administrator  of  the 
law  had  no  right  to  leave  unpunished  what  this  law  condemned, 
even  where  it  demanded  death,  because  this  law  is  "  divine  and 
universal  "  and  hence  inviolable.  In  the  case  of  particular  laws 
the  judge  may  grant  grace  according  as  time  and  place  or 
circumstance  may  seem  to  warrant  because  these  laws  are 
human.  Obviously  such  a  regime  placed  great  power  in  the 
hands  of  the  clergy  who  were  the  ex  officio  expounders  of  the 
scope  and  meaning  of  these  "  divine  and  universal  "  laws.  In 


28         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

Puritan  New  England  as  in  Geneva  the  clergy  became  a  power- 
ful caste,  the  keepers  of  the  social  conscience. 

Such,  in  general,  was  the  attitude  in  the  Puritan  theocracies 
of  Geneva  and  of  New  England  toward  the  problem  of  political 
rights  and  obligations.  It  is  easy  to  see  the  affiliations  between 
the  Calvinistic  notions  of  a  natural  law  that  is  "  divine  and 
universal "  and  the  doctrine  of  natural  rights  formulated  by 
Locke,  championed  by  Rousseau,  and  embodied  in  our  own 
Constitution  and  Declaration.  It  is  easy  also  to  foresee  that 
the  very  finality  and  inflexibility  of  these  political  conceptions 
must  ultimately  lead  to  a  dualism  between  them  and  the  politi- 
cal problems  created  by  the  expanding  life  of  the  nation. 

"  It  was  the  Puritan  conception  of  the  Deity,"  remarks  Van 
Wyck  Brooks,  "  as  not  alone  all-determining  but  precisely 
responsible  for  the  practical  affairs  of  the  race,  as  constituting 
in  fact  the  state  itself,  which  precluded  in  advance  any  central 
bond,  and  responsibility,  any  common  feeling  in  American  af- 
fairs and  which  justified  the  unlimited  centrifugal  expediency 
which  has  always  marked  American  life.  And  the  same  instinct 
that  made  against  centrality  in  government  made  against  cen- 
trality  in  thought,  against  common  standards  of  any  kind  ".1 
For  it  is  obvious  that,  once  having  accepted  this  closed  and 
indefectible  system  of  values  in  state,  morals,  religion,  and 
business,  individuals  and  groups  would  not  feel  any  necessity 
for  creating  other  common  standards.  Hence  "  centrifugal 
expedience  "  became  the  order  of  the  day,  as  exhibited  in  un- 
regulated individualism  in  politics  and  religion  and  unrestricted 
competition  in  business. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  sheer  logic  of  events  should  in 
time  drive  a  wedge  between  this  closed  system  of  indefeasible 
transcendental  values  and  the  common  work-a-day  level  at 
which  the  real  business  of  life  is  done.  The  facts  of  immediate 
experience  will  in  the  end  always  discredit  any  system  of 
absolutism  if  we  give  them  time  enough.  In  the  course  of  the 
evolution  of  American  society,  the  rampant  individualism  born 
of  "  centrifugal  expediency  "  has  always  prevented  any  effec- 

1  America's  Coming-of-Age,  p.  8. 


THE  SOCIAL  IMPLICATIONS  OF  CALVINISM          29 

tive  unity  of  thought  and  life  and  is  largely  responsible  for 
the  present  "  heterogeneous  collection  of  provincial  moralities  " 
that  has  been  identified  with  the  social  conscience  of  the  Ameri- 
can people.  As  the  comprehensive  loyalties  rooted  in  Calvin- 
ism gradually  faded  from  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  the 
residuary  traditions  of  individualism  were  utterly  unequal  to 
the  task  of  creating  the  new  synthesis  of  loyalties  demanded  by 
the  modern  mutualized  social  order.  The  tragedy  of  the  situa- 
tion lay  in  the  fact  that  Calvinism  recognized  no  middle  ground 
between  the  complete  attainment  of  the  ideal,  perfect  con- 
formity to  the  divine  order,  and  moral  chaos. 

§  3.   THE  SOCIAL  IMPLICATIONS  OF  CALVINISM 

Since  no  detail  of  life,  even  the  most  insignificant,  fell  out- 
side the  closed  logical  system  of  Calvinism,  it  followed  that 
every  phase  of  the  individual's  life  felt  the  binding  force  of  the 
moral  ideal.  Calvin  justified  an  injunction  to  the  magistrates 
to  punish  the  drunkards  and  adulterers  as  well  as  the  murderers 
on  the  ground  "  that  they  may  have  a  sense  of  discretion  in 
them  and  that  they  do  not  act  like  dogs  and  pigs  ".  Here  we 
have  the  key  to  the  moral  ideal  of  Calvinism.  It  saw  in  the 
rationally  ordered  life  the  one  that  was  most  in  harmony 
with  the  will  of  God.  The  "  blue  laws "  of  colonial  days 
appear  to  the  moral  sense  of  a  later  age  meddlesome  and 
tyrannical.  It  must  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  they  were 
prompted  by  a  lofty  conception  of  the  moral  and  spiritual 
unity,  the  dignity  and  infinite  significance  of  life  itself. 
Only  some  such  feeling  of  the  inherent  worth  of  life  could 
have  induced  men  and  women  to  submit  to  punishment  for 
absence  from  church,  the  use  of  gold  chains,  for  joking  about 
the  minister,  consulting  a  gypsy,  or  for  saying  requiescat 
in  pace  over  the  grave  of  a  husband.  The  high  sense 
of  social  responsibility  born  of  this  keen  realization  of  the 
fundamental  reasonableness  and  moral  unity  of  life  led  to  other 
regulations  that  were  not  so  absurd  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
modern  victim  of  the  food-profiteer.  The  butcher,  for  example, 
who  sold  spoiled  meat  or  inedible  parts  of  animals  was  forced 


30         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

to  make  the  round  of  the  city,  torch  in  hand,  with  "  the  afore- 
said pieces  of  meat  attached  to  him  ". 

With  the  loss  of  a  vivid  sense  of  the  fundamental  moral 
unity  of  life  and  its  essential  rationality  went  the  discrediting 
of  the  corresponding  comprehensive  scheme  of  values  that  in- 
cluded the  smallest  details  of  existence.  As  the  unity  of  the 
moral  and  spiritual  life  was  broken  down,  these  regulations 
inevitably  took  on  an  atmosphere  of  censoriousness,  of  unwar- 
ranted interference  with  personal  rights  and  even  of  gossipy 
meddlesomeness  that  sapped  life  of  its  dignity.  Hence  it  is  but 
a  step  from  the  lofty  ethical  idealism  of  the  Puritan  to  the 
hypocrisy  that  was  almost  always  associated  with  Puritanism 
in  its  decadent  forms.  Moral  insincerity  was  the  necessary 
result  of  the  failure  to  realize  this  lofty  ethical  idea.  The 
tragedy  of  the  situation  was  that  Puritanism  admitted  of  no 
compromise  between  spiritual  and  moral  bankruptcy  and  the 
attainment  of  the  ideal  in  all  its  impossible  logical  finality  and 
its  ethical  absoluteness. 

To  be  sure,  there  lingered  in  Puritan  and  Scotch-Irish  com- 
munities, long  after  the  theology  of  Calvin  began  to  be  dis- 
credited, a  sort  of  moral  residuum  often  called  "  the  Puritan 
conscience  ".  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  the  peculiar  "  set " 
given  to  the  emotional  life  of  an  individual  or  of  a  community 
often  remains  after  the  institutional  forms  or  the  ideational 
framework  which  created  this  organization  of  sentiments  has 
disappeared  or  been  discredited.  The  Puritan  or  New  England 
conscience  with  all  its  noble  traditions  of  civic  and  political 
responsibility,  its  indomitable  moral  idealism,  its  splendid 
courage,  is  merely  the  result  of  the  moral  discipline  of  Puritan 
ideas  and  institutions.  "  Fabricated  in  the  crucible  of  perse- 
cution from  without  and  pragmatical  criticism  from  within, 
stimulated  by  fervid  idealism  and  a  stern  class  necessity,  the 
Puritan  conscience  became  the  finest,  and,  in  some  respects, 
the  most  irrational  element  of  Puritan  psychology.  .  .  .  The 
sense  of  duty,  the  service  of  right  for  the  right's  sake,  the 
burden  of  the  cause  of  righteousness  to  be  borne,  with  no 
thought  of  self,  hi  defiance  of  the  sneers  of  the  world,  the 


THE  SOCIAL  IMPLICATIONS  OF  CALVINISM          31 

seductions  of  the  flesh,  the  wiles  and  torments  of  the  Arch 
Fiend  himself,"  l  this  is  the  essence  of  the  Puritan  conscience. 
This  has  been  indeed  the  priceless  legacy  of  Puritanism  to 
later  generations.  But  even  the  Puritan  conscience  is  unable 
to  survive  the  decentralization  of  our  moral  and  spiritual  loyal- 
ties; it  is  to-day  a  disappearing  element  in  our  national  life. 

Belated  echoes  of  this  once  powerfully  unified  and  reli- 
giously sanctioned  scheme  of  morality  can  still  be  detected. 
Many  good  people  to-day  still  take  seriously  the  sin  of  the  game 
of  cards,  condemn  the  theater  or  are  scandalized  at  the  thought 
of  Sunday  baseball.  They  are  for  the  most  part  unconscious 
of  the  historical  background  of  this  moral  attitude.  Were  they 
better  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  past  they  would  know 
that  games  of  chance  were  condemned  because  of  their  irra- 
tional element.  The  appeal  to  chance  is  to  a  certain  extent  an 
insult  to  the  eternal  rational  order  determined  by  the  sovereign 
will  of  God.  For  the  same  reason  the  theater  was  opposed 
because  the  actors  sought  to  portray  the  hopes  and  fears,  the 
good  and  the  evil  in  other  personalities  than  their  own.  In 
this  way  they  stultified  real  life  and  introduced  confusion 
into  the  divine  plan  according  to  which  each  is  to  "  work  out 
his  own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling  ".  We  have  here 
a  curious  approximation  to  Plato's  condemnation  of  the  poets 
and  players  in  his  ideal  state  because  they  were  imitators  of 
imitators,  that  is  to  say,  they  were  twice  removed  from  moral 
and  spiritual  reality  and  therefore  were  a  menace  to  the  dignity 
and  integrity  of  human  life.2 

1  Clarence  Meily,  Puritanism,  p.  63. 

2  For  a  somewhat  belated  defense  of  the  Calvinistic  ethic  see  Kuyper, 
Calvinism.    John  Witherspoon,  signer  of  the  Declaration  and  president  of 
Princeton,    gives    the    typical    Scotch-Irish    Presbyterian    attitude    in    his 
little  book  on  the  stage.    An  interesting  sketch  of  the  rigid  application  of 
Calvinistic  ethic  among  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians  as  far  west  as  southern 
Indiana  and  as  late  as  the  middle  of  the  last  century  may  be  found  in 
Professor  J.  A.  Woodburn's  brochure,  The  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians  in 
Monroe  County,  Indiana,  Indiana  Historical  Publications,  Vol.  IV,  No.  8, 
pp.  493  ff. 


32         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

§  4.   THE  PURITAN  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS 

That  there  is  a  very  close  connection  between  Puritanism 
and  the  rise  of  capitalism  is  now  being  increasingly  recognized 
by  economists  and  historians.  This  is  particularly  in  evidence 
in  connection  with  the  Puritan  emphasis  of  one's  "  calling  ". 
What  must  have  been  the  effect  upon  the  business  ethic  of  the 
English  middle  class  of  the  seventeenth  century,  where  we  must 
seek  the  beginnings  of  the  modern  capitalism,  of  such  exhorta- 
tions as  the  following  addressed  by  the  Puritan  Richard  Baxter 
to  his  congregation  of  Kidderminster  weavers?  "  Especially 
be  sure  that  you  live  not  out  of  your  calling,  that  is,  such  a 
stated  course  of  employment,  in  which  you  may  best  be  serv- 
iceable, to  God.  No  man  must  live  idly  or  content  himself 
with  doing  some  little  chars  as  a  recreation  or  on  the  by:  but 
every  one  that  is  able  must  be  statedly  and  ordinarily  employed 
in  such  work  as  is  serviceable  to  God  and  the  common  good." 
This  "  calling  "  may  not  be  lightly  changed  and  the  injunction 
is  "  avoid  avocations  ". 

The  reason  for  this  emphasis  of  a  fixed  calling  is  evident. 
It  is  part  of  the  divinely  ordained  plan  for  the  attainment  of 
moral  and  spiritual  perfection.  A  Jack-of-all-trades  is  an  af- 
front to  God,  a  moral  and  spiritual  menace.  He  is  a  wander- 
ing star  in  the  spiritual  firmament  because  he  is  not  in  the 
position  to  "  make  his  calling  and  election  sure  ".  Not  work 
per  se,  therefore,  but  a  certain  sort  of  work,  that  which  is  prose- 
cuted according  to  a  carefully  thought-out  plan,  covering  years 
of  time  and  adjusted  to  the  countless  social  responsibilities  of 
the  worker,  work  in  short  that  falls  in  with  and  reflects  the 
eternally  predestined  plan  of  God — this  is  the  type  of  work 
demanded  by  Puritanism.  With  such  vast  emphasis  placed 
upon  one's  business  it  is  not  surprising  to  learn,  "  A  man  that 
makes  his  calling  his  business  is  not  lazy  but  laborious.  What 
pains  will  he  take!  What  strength  will  he  spend!  How  will 
he  toil  and  moil  at  it  early  and  late."  • 

Intimately  associated  with  the  obligation  to  diligence  in 
business  was  the  element  of  thrift,  especially  in  connection 


THE  PURITAN  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  33 

with  the  injunction  to  redeem  the  time.  "  It  is  a  more  neces- 
sary thriftiness  to  be  sparing  and  saving  of  your  time  ",  writes 
Baxter,  "  than  of  your  money  ".  For  time  is  "  man's  oppor- 
tunity for  all  those  works  for  which  he  liveth,  and  which 
his  Creator  doth  expect  of  him,  and  on  which  his  endless  life 
dependeth ".  When  we  connect  this  emphasis  upon  pro- 
ductive capacity  due  to  the  notion  of  "  calling  "  and  the  duty 
of  redeeming  the  time  with  the  ascetic  element  which  forbade 
the  expenditure  of  surplus  earnings  upon  articles  of  luxury, 
such  as  dress,  theaters,  games,  and  the  like,  we  have  the  two 
elements  in  the  character  of  early  Puritanism  that  played  no 
small  part  in  the  creation  of  capitalism.  The  moral  obliga- 
tion which  impelled  the  Puritan  to  make  use  of  his  talents  to 
the  utmost  of  his  ability  as  a  divinely  ordained  method  of  as- 
suring his  soul's  salvation  forced  him  to  reinvest  his  accumu- 
lated earnings  which  the  ascetic  simplicity  of  his  life  would 
not  allow  him  to  spend.  Thus  was  a  circle  of  activities  created 
that  undoubtedly  furthered  the  rise  of  capitalism.  It  is, 
therefore,  no  accident,  as  Max  Weber  and  others  have  pointed 
out,  that  capitalism  has  flourished  most  vigorously  among 
those  groups  and  in  those  countries  where  Calvinism  has 
prevailed. 

There  are  certain  important  corollaries  arising  from  the 
Puritan  philosophy  of  work  and  of  wealth.  Calvinism  is  the 
only  great  historical  form  of  institutionalized  Christianity 
that  saw  in  the  sheer  accumulation  of  wealth  a  possible  indica- 
tion of  God's  blessing  and  an  assurance  of  the  eternal  welfare 
of  the  soul.  For,  since  wealth  is  one  indication  of  success  in 
one's  calling  and  since  success  in  one's  calling  comes  as  a  result 
of  cooperation  with  the  divine  plan,  it  follows  that  wealth 
rightly  gained  is  a  token  of  God's  favor  and  an  evidence  of 
spiritual  growth.  Not  only  is  this  true  but  the  man  with 
wealth-producing  capacity  has  no  other  alternative  than  to 
make  use  of  his  powers.  To  refuse  to  do  so  would  be  to  re- 
ject the  economic  destiny  ordained  of  God  and  this  would  be  a 
sin.  "  If  God  show  you  a  way  ",  says  Baxter,  "  in  which 
you  may  lawfully  get  more  than  in  another  way,  if  you  refuse 


34        THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

this  and  choose  the  less  gainful  way,  you  cross  one  of  the 
ends  of  your  calling  and  you  refuse  to  be  God's  steward  ". 

It  is  of  course  obvious  that  men  who  thus  felt  the  tre- 
mendous moral  and  spiritual  values  at  stake  in  connection 
with  the  prosecution  of  their  business  would  insist  upon  the 
largest  measure  of  economic  freedom.  Unrestricted  competi- 
tion and  freedom  of  trade  were  necessary  implications  of  an 
economic  philosophy  that  saw  in  one's  business  the  instrument 
for  assuring  eternal  spiritual  welfare.  There  is  in  fact  little 
difficulty  in  tracing  an  intimate  and  organic  relationship  be- 
tween the  economic  liberalism  of  seventeenth  century  Eng- 
land and  religious  and  political  liberalism.  In  time,  of  course, 
the  Calvinistic  scheme  of  eternal  and  logically  coordinated 
moral  and  spiritual  values  that  furnished  the  inspiration  for  the 
struggle  for  economic  as  well  as  for  political  and  religious 
liberty  fell  into  abeyance.  It  ceased  to  function  as  a  justifica- 
tion  for  the  economic  or  the  political  status  quo.  However, 
as  late  as  the  days  of  Adam  Smith  it  is  still  possible  to  trace 
in  his  notion  of  a  preestablished  economic  harmony,  hovering 
in  the  background  of  his  doctrine  of  unrestricted  competition 
inspired  by  enlightened  individual  selfishness,  a  sort  of  pale 
and  washed-out  remnant  of  the  Calvinistic  philosophy  of 
business. 

It  was  inevitable  that  in  the  course  of  time  the  lofty  moral 
and  spiritual  setting  that  lent  dignity  and  moral  earnestness 
to  the  business  life  of  the  early  Puritan  should  lose  its  force. 
But  the  mighty  fabric  of  capitalism  for  which  Calvinism  to  a 
very  large  extent  lent  the  ethical  and  religious  sanctions  in  the 
days  of  its  weak  and  uncertain  beginnings  still  persisted  and 
waxed  strong  and  covered  the  civilized  world.  The  vitality 
of  the  structure  of  capitalism  thus  served  to  preserve  and 
perpetuate  to  a  certain  extent  the  economic  ideals  of  Calvin- 
ism. But  the  norms  of  the  Calvinistic  ethics  of  work  and  of 
wealth,  stripped  of  their  spiritual  background,  have  persisted 
in  a  form  that  makes  them  harsh,  impersonal,  and  often  irra- 
tional and  anti-social. 

The  Calvinistic  emphasis  upon  the  duty  of  prosecuting 


THE  PURITAN  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  35 

some  "  calling  "  we  find  still  persisting  under  the  modern 
notion  that  intense  business  activity  and  enterprise  are  funda- 
mentally necessary  to  the  welfare  of  society.  It  has  been  re- 
marked that  "  economic  self-assertion  still  remains  to  most 
Americans  a  sort  of  moral  obligation  ".  But  the  economic 
self-assertion  of  the  modern  business  man  is  for  the  most  part 
entirely  lacking  in  any  saving  sense  of  a  larger  scheme  of 
values  through  which  business  activity  might  find  its  mean- 
ing and  worth.  To  the  critical  outsider  the  bustling  world 
of  trade  often  appears  to  be  little  more  than  a  mad  hurly-burly 
of  conflicting  forces.  Certainly  business  enterprise  recognizes 
no  transcendent  and  far-flung  goal  of  social  welfare  as  its 
source  of  inspiration.  It  is  only  some  such  comprehensive 
scheme  of  values  that  can  redeem  business  from  the  funda- 
mental irrationality  that  lies  at  its  heart.  Because  it  lacks 
the  moral  and  spiritual  power  drawn  from  a  compelling  sense 
of  social  responsibility,  business  has  remained,  since  the  de- 
cay of  Puritanism,  essentially  unmoral.  The  economists,  by 
accepting  the  divorce  of  economics  from  ethics,  threaten  to 
play  the  role  of  Frankensteins  by  creating  moral  monstrosi- 
ties. 

The  incentive  to  accumulation  in  early  Calvinistic  ethic 
was  two-fold.  There  was  first  the  immediate  and  practical 
necessity  of  securing  an  assured  place  in  the  economic  order, 
for  economic  independence  was  necessary  to  the  full  enjoyment 
of  political  and  religious  freedom.  Furthermore,  the  accumu- 
lation of  wealth  was  a  token  of  the  divine  favor  and  of  moral 
progress.  There  was  for  the  early  Calvinist  no  problem  of  the 
surplus,  for,  no  matter  how  great  his  increased  wealth,  the  re- 
sponsibility for  the  faithful  administration  of  this  wealth 
forced  him  to  reinvest  it  and  to  utilize  it  as  an  additional 
means  for  the  development  of  character  and  the  glory  of 
God.  To-day  the  situation  is  entirely  changed.  The  incen- 
tive to  business  enterprise  still  persists  but  the  sense  of  social 
or  religious  responsibility  which  would  tend  to  control  the 
accumulations  of  wealth  and  assure  its  employment  in  the 
interest  of  the  common  good  has  to  a  very  large  extent  disap- 


36        THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

peared.  There  is  in  fact  no  more  striking  evidence  of  the  lack 
of  any  great  compelling  scheme  of  moral  values  in  our  mod- 
ern business  life  than  just  this  pressing  problem  of  our  surplus 
wealth. 

Perhaps  no  phase  of  the  Puritan  economic  philosophy 
has  suffered  more  from  the  decay  of  Calvinism  than  profitism. 
For  profitism  is  morally  one  of  the  unloveliest  phases  of  mod- 
ern business  life.  To  be  sure,  the  Puritan  ethic  and  modern 
business  both  insist  that  profits  are  essential  to  industry.  For 
the  modern  man,  however,  profits  rather  than  a  livelihood  is 
the  business  incentive.  Every  business  move  is  estimated  in 
terms  of  its  "  prospective  profit-yielding  capacity  ".  Busi- 
ness, then,  does  not  look  further  than  the  sheer  fact  of  earn- 
ing capacity.  In  so  far  as  profitism  is  subject  to  modification 
it  is  due  to  forces  that  arise  outside  of  business.  We  seek 
in  vain  in  the  conventional  business  ethic  for  any  comprehen- 
sive moral  principle  that  would  provide  a  check  upon  profitism 
in  the  interest  of  society  as  a  whole.  We  have  been  made 
painfully  aware  of  this  fact  in  our  recent  attempts  to  control 
the  food  and  fuel  profiteers. 

Profit  in  the  early  Puritan  ethic  was  never  looked  upon  as 
an  end  in  itself;  it  could  not  possibly  have  been  identified  with 
the  essence  of  business.  For  profits,  when  legitimate,  were 
viewed  as  an  evidence  of  a  rationally  ordered  and  successful 
business  and  one,  therefore,  that  was  furthering  the  moral 
and  spiritual  welfare  of  the  individual  and  of  his  fellows. 
Legitimate  profits  found  their  measure  of  values  in  a  lofty 
and  comprehensive  ethical  scheme,  religiously  conceived  to 
be  sure,  but  authoritative  and  socially  efficient.  For  the 
Puritan  profits  were,  on  the  one  hand,  a  reward  properly 
earned  by  effective  contributions  to  the  sum  total  of  moral  and 
spiritual  values;  on  the  other  hand,  profits  were  in  a  very  real 
sense  a  form  of  self -fulfillment.  They  indicated  that  the  busi- 
ness man  was  a  "  workman  that  needeth  not  to  be  ashamed  ", 
so  that  in  a  certain  sense  creative  activity  in  the  realm  of 
business  took  its  place  side  by  side  with  the  creations  of 
the  artist,  scientist,  or  scholar.  It  goes  without  saying  that 


THE  PURITAN  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  37 

there  is  nothing  more  sadly  needed  in  modern  industry  than 
just  this  socialization  of  business  enterprise  and  of  profits. 
It  alone  can  save  us  from  the  militant,  unscrupulous,  economic 
self-assertion  that  has  done  so  much  to  brutalize  our  modern 
life  and  to  strip  it  of  all  enthusiasm  for  those  things  that  are 
true  and  honest  and  lovely  and  of  good  report. 

The  development  of  his  business  and  hence  the  moral 
welfare  of  the  employer  of  labor  demanded  that  the  Calvinist 
be  able  to  buy  his  labor  in  the  cheapest  market  or  one  in 
which  there  was  free  competition.  The  low  wage  was  also 
thought  necessary  for  the  moral  good  of  the  worker.  For 
the  disciplinary  value  of  work  made  it  necessary  to  keep 
wages  low  so  as  to  force  the  lazy  to  undergo  the  moral  disci- 
pline of  work  and  to  assure  the  practice  of  the  virtues  of  thrift 
and  diligence.  The  only  poor  recognized  in  the  Puritan 
ethic  were  "  God  Almighty's  poor  "  or  the  lame  and  halt  and 
blind.  There  was  no  place  in  the  Puritan  scheme  for  any 
moral  justification  of  the  able-bodied  poor  or  the  unemployed. 
It  is  possible  to  recognize  in  modern  capitalism's  antagonism 
to  union  labor  and  collective  bargaining  and  in  its  unwilling- 
ness to  assume  any  social  responsibility  for  the  unemployed 
an  echo  of  an  outworn  Puritan  ethic. 

Calvinism  and  business  have  long  since  parted  company. 
From  its  very  nature  and  claims  Calvinism  was  unable  to 
adjust  itself  to  the  vigorous  and  expanding  industrial  order. 
When  men  once  ceased  to  take  Calvinism  seriously,  all  its 
detailed  regulations  of  the  business  life  became  mere  hind- 
rances or  were  made  the  vehicles  for  other  sets  of  values.  The 
ethical  significance  of  work,  for  example,  was  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  noblest  contributions  of  Puritanism  to  the  modern 
industrial  order.  But  with  the  rise  of  surplus  wealth  and 
the  development  of  the  capitalistic  class  the  virtues  of  thrift, 
industry,  temperance,  and  frugality,  together  with  the  re- 
lated virtues  of  obedience  and  respect  for  the  existing  order 
of  things,  came  in  time  to  be  thought  most  becoming  in  the 
working  class.  The  capitalistic  class  were  exempt. 

The  economic  as  well  as  the  political  philosophy  of  Puri- 


38         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

tanism  has  lingered  longest  among  the  middle  class,  the  farmer, 
the  country  storekeeper,  the  small  tradesman.  At  the  close 
of  the  last  century  this  group,  under  the  leadership  of  Mr. 
Bryan,  made  a  last  pathetic  attempt  to  bridle  the  trusts,  to 
restore  lost  competition,  in  short  to  revive  the  economic  philos- 
ophy of  Calvinism.  The  scheme  was  doomed  to  failure  for 
the  reason  that  Calvinism  no  longer  exists  as  a  vital  religious 
attitude  in  the  hearts  of  modern  men.  The  husks  of  its  once 
vigorous  and  noble  spirit  are  still  with  us,  embalmed  to  a  large 
extent  in  the  economic,  moral,  and  spiritual  fabric  of  society. 
But  they  no  longer  serve  the  ends  they  were  designed  to 
serve.  They  are  rather  a  fruitful  source  of  confusion  and  un- 
certainty. The  sacrosanct  character  oi  private  property,  unre- 
stricted competition,  profitism,  economic  self-assertion,  thrift, 
the  dignity  of  work,  the  lofty  sense  of  responsibility  for 
wealth  or  for  positions  of  power  in  the  economic  order — 
these  and  other  phases  of  the  economic  life  that  date  back  to 
early  Calvinism  have  long  since  lost  their  original  moral  and 
spiritual  background  or  survive  in  a  social  order  that  is 
fundamentally  alien  to  the  spirit  of  Richard  Baxter  or  of 
Jonathan  Edwards.  The  fact  that  men  still  cling  to  this 
ghost  of  an  outworn  moral  order,  still  reverence  it  and  ever 
and  anon  still  seek  in  a  half-hearted  way  to  vitalize  it  and 
make  it  serve  as  an  instrument  of  reform  is  no  small  factor  in 
the  prevailing  confusion  in  ethical  ideals.  It  is  at  the  same 
time  a  somewhat  pathetic  reminder  of  the  lack  of  a  compell- 
ing and  comprehensive  scheme  of  moral  values  in  our  mod- 
ern life. 

§  5.   THE  DECAY  OF  PURITANISM 

The  forces  that  finally  undermined  the  hold  of  institu- 
tionalized religion  and  particularly  of  Calvinism  upon  the 
social  conscience  were  many  and  diverse.  They  began  to 
make  themselves  felt  towards  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  but  their  full  effects  were  not  evident,  especially 
in  America,  until  after  the  publication  of  Darwin's  Origin 
of  Species  in  1859.  Up  to  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 


THE  DECAY  OF  PURITANISM  39 

century  religious  ideals  of  the  Calvinistic  type  ruled  in 
Great  Britain  north  of  the  Tweed  "  with  stern  and  unmitigated 
severity ".  In  England  the  masses  of  the  Evangelicals  in 
the  Church  of  England  and  practically  all  the  Non-comform- 
ist  bodies  were  Calvinists.  Methodism  was  in  its  infancy.  In 
New  England  Calvinism  was  firmly  entrenched  and  the  com- 
ing of  the  aggressive  Scotch-Irish  during  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury had  extended  Calvinism's  influence  west  and  south. 
Civilization  in  America  was  in  the  making.  The  absence 
of  the  rich  and  many-sided  life  of  England  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  made  it  impossible  for  Americans  to 
emancipate  themselves  from  religious  dogma.  The  New  Eng- 
land of  Cotton  Mather  was  perhaps  more  Calvinistic  than 
that  of  John  Cotton.  Even  as  late  as  the  Revolution  the 
forces  of  liberalism,  aroused  by  the  struggle  for  independence 
and  expressed  in  such  spirits  as  Franklin,  Jefferson,  and  Paine, 
were  met  by  Timothy  Dwight  in  New  England  and  by  the 
stern  creed  of  the  Scotch-Irish  of  the  South  and  West.  The 
publication  of  Butler's  Hudibras  in  England  during  the  last 
quarter  of  the  seventeenth  century  registered  the  decay  of  the 
hold  of  Calvinism  upon  the  conscience  of  England,  but  it  was 
not  until  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  that  Holmes 
wrote  his  satire  on  Calvinism,  The  Deacon's  Wonderful  One- 
Hoss  Shay. 

From  the  early  decades  of  the  eighteenth  century,  however, 
it  is  possible  to  note  the  working  of  a  leaven  in  the  heart  of 
New  England  Puritanism  destined  to  free  the  consciences  of 
men  from  its  iron  rule.  It  was  about  1734  that  Arminianism 
began  to  disturb  Johnathan  Edwards.  Against  this  theological 
liberalism  he  levelled  the  artillery  of  his  logical  dialectic  in 
his  famous  work  on  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.  This  rise  of 
Arminianism  was  but  the  natural  psychological  reaction  against 
a  creed  that  starved  the  emotions  and  deprived  the  moral  life 
of  all  spontaneity  and  responsibility.  Edwards  welcomed 
Whitfield  the  evangelist  to  combat  the  heresy.  But  under  the 
fire  of  Whitfield's  eloquence  the  long  suppressed  and  starved 
emotions  of  men  burst  into  flame  and  gave  rise  to  the  excesses 


40         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 

of  the  Great  Awakening.  "  It  was  one  thing  to  preach  irre- 
sistible grace;  it  was  another  to  lack  the  restraining  grace 
of  common  sense ".  Religious  leaders  now  saw  that  they 
must  apply  more  of  "  sweet  reasonableness  "  to  their  harsh 
theology.  Deism  with  its  insistence  upon  God's  benevolence 
and  the  inherent  goodness  of  men  gained  a  foothold  in  New 
England  through  such  men  as  Chauncy  and  Mayhew.  Thus 
was  the  way  paved  for  the  evolution  of  New  England  thought 
that  finally  culminated  in  Channing's  sermon  of  1819,  the 
manifesto  of  Unitarianism,  to  be  followed  several  decades 
later  by  Emerson  and  the  Transcendentalists. 

Other  forces,  outside  New  England  and  more  cosmopoli- 
tan in  character,  were  working  toward  the  secularization  of  the 
moral  sentiments  of  men.  The  great  doctrines  of  the  French 
Revolution,  liberty,  equality  and  fraternity,  with  their  em- 
phasis upon  the  inherent  dignity  and  worth  of  man  were 
fundamentally  opposed  to  a  theology  that  made  God  arbitrarily 
elect  some  to  be  the  objects  of  his  love  while  allowing  the 
rest  of  mankind  to  perish  like  flies  in  autumn.  This  humani- 
tarianism,  especially  as  it  came  from  the  pen  of  Rousseau, 
spread  throughout  Europe,  tinging  the  thought  of  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge  and  even  finding  a  voice  in  the  stronghold  of 
Calvinism  in  the  poet  Burns.  Nothing  could  be  more  funda- 
mentally antagonistic  to  the  stern  spirit  of  Calvinism  than 
Burns'  famous  line,  "  The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that  ".  And 
certainly  humanitarianism,  not  to  mention  the  theology  of 
John  Calvin,  is  stretched  to  the  limit  in  the  closing  lines  of  his 
"Address  to  the  De'a": 

"  But  fare  you  well,  auld  Nickie-ben! 
Oh,  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  on  men! 
Ye  aiblins  might,  I  dinna  ken, 

Still  hae  a  stake; 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 
E'en  for  your  sake." 

But  Calvinism  was  doomed  because,  in  spite  of  the  noble 
role  it  had  played  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  it  was  fundament- 
ally aristocratic  rather  than  democratic.  It  was  the  scholarly, 


THE  DECAY  OF  PURITANISM  41 

courteous,  and  pious  John  Cotton  who  said,  "  Democracy  I 
do  not  conceive  that  ever  did  God  ordain  as  a  fit  government 
either  for  church  or  commonwealth.  If  the  people  be  govern- 
ors who  shall  be  governed?  As  for  monarchy  and  aristocracy 
they  are  both  of  them  clearly  approved  and  directed  in  Scrip- 
ture ".  The  political  ideal  of  the  New  England  Brahmins,  as 
the  clergy  have  been  called,  was  well  expressed  in  the  lines, 

"  The  upper  world  shall  rule, 
While  stars  shall  run  their  race ; 
The  nether  world  obey, 
While  people  keep  their  place." 

Calvinistic  New  England  long  resisted  the  rising  tide  of 
democracy  that  accompanied  the  struggle  for  independence. 
It  was  not  until  1833  that  Massachusetts  finally  set  aside  the 
aristocratic  ecclesiastical  regime  and  thus  made  possible  a 
real  democracy.  Writers  have  even  found  traces  of  the  aris- 
tocratic tradition,  based  upon  the  Calvinistic  doctrine  of  elec- 
tion, in  the  tendency  to  glorify  the  pecuniary  aristocracy,  the 
"  captains  of  industry  ",  that  arose  after  the  industrial  revo- 
lution in  lands  with  Calvinistic  traditions. 

Finally,  it  should  be  remembered  that  with  the  publica- 
tion of  Darwin's  Origin  of  Species  and  the  general  accept- 
ance of  the  principle  of  evolution,  not  only  in  the  world 
of  science  but  in  the  thought  of  the  average  man,  a  mental 
atmosphere  has  been  created  inhospitable  to  all  forms  of 
theological  apriorism.  The  theory  of  evolution  has  forced 
us  to  modify  all  forms  of  absolutism  in  our  thinking.  But  "  a 
moderate  Calvinism  "  is  a  practical  repudiation  of  Calvinism. 
We  might  just  as  well  talk  of  a  moderate  absolutism  or  a 
partial  necessity.  As  the  source  of  Calvinism's  moral  grandeur 
and  its  power  over  the  imaginations  and  loyalties  of  men  lay 
in  its  indefectible  claims,  so  any  toning  down  of  these  claims 
brought  it  speedily  into  general  disrepute. 


42         THE  RELIGIOUS  BACKGROUND:  CALVINISM 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

i.  Books :  ADENEY,  W.  F. :  A  Century  of  Progress  in  Literature  and 
Thought,  Ch.  VII,  "The  Decline  of  Calvinism";  BAXTER,  RICHARD:  The 
Christian  Directory,  1673;  BROOKS,  V.  W. :  America's  Coming-of-Age, 
IQIS;  CAMPBELL,  D. :  The  Puritan  in  Holland,  England  and  America, 
2  vols.,  1892;  The  Cambridge  History  of  American  Literature,  Vol.  I, 
Chs.  3,  4,  5;  CHOISY,  E. :  L'£tat  chretien  Calviniste  a  Geneve  aux  temps 
de  Beze,  1902 ;  DOWDEN,  E. :  Puritan  and  Anglican,  1900 ;  DOUMERGUE,  E. : 
Jean  Calvin,  5  vols,  1899  ff. ;  FORD,  P.  L. :  The  New  England  Primer, 
Introduction,  1897;  HANNA,  C.  A.:  Scotch-Irish,  2  vols.,  1902,  Vol.  I; 
HANSCOM,  E.  D. :  The  Heart  of  the  Puritan,  1917 ;  HART,  A.  B. :  American 
History  Told  by  Contemporaries,  Vol.  I,  pp.  324-340;  KUYPER,  A.:  Cal- 
vinism, 1898,  Chs.  1-3;  LEVY,  H. :  Economic  Liberalism,  1913,  Chs.  2,  3,  5; 
Low,  A.  MAURICE:  The  American  People,  1909,  Vol.  I;  MEILY,  C. :  Puri- 
tanism, 1911;  RILEY,  W.  I.:  American  Philosophy:  The  Earlier  Schools, 
1907;  RITCHIE,  D.  G. :  Natural  Rights,  1895,  Ch.  I;  TROELTSCH,  E. :  Die 
Sosiallehren  der  Christlichen  Kirchen  und  Gruppen,  1912 ;  TRUMBULL, 
J.  H. :  Blue  Laws  True  and  False,  1876;  WALKER,  W. :  John  Calvin, 
Chs.  14,  15. 

2.  Articles :  TROELTSCH  :  "  Calvin  and  Calvinism."  Hibbert  Journal, 
Vol.  8,  pp.  102  ff. ;  WALLIS  :  "  The  New  England  Conscience."  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  19,  pp.  48  ff. ;  WEBER,  MAX  :  "  Die  Protes- 
tantische  Ethik  und  der  Geist  des  Capitalismus."  Archiv  fuer  Sozial- 
wissenchaft,  Bde.,  XX,  XXI. 

Special  reference  should  be  made  to  the  scholarly  and  suggestive 
articles  of  Prof.  H.  D.  Foster  on  the  political  theories  of  the  Calvinists 
in  the  American  Historical  Review,  January,  1903,  and  April,  1916,  the 
Harvard  Theological  Review,  Vol.  I,  pp.  381  ff. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

IT  is  a  curious  fact  that  with  the  growth  of  national  conscious- 
ness and  the  substitution  of  a  thoroughly  secularized  social 
conscience  for  earlier  religious  sanctions  American  life  became 
more  and  more  individualistic.  The  New  England  of  the 
days  of  Emerson  and  Margaret  Fuller  was  far  more  individual- 
istic than  the  New  England  of  the  days  of  John  Cotton  and 
the  Mathers.  The  democratic  individualism  of  Jefferson  was 
a  great  advance  upon  the  ideas  of  the  Virginia  of  earlier  days. 
How  are  we  to  explain  the  paradox  that  hand  in  hand  with 
the  adoption  of  a  federal  constitution  and  the  closer  approxi- 
mation of  the  thirteen  colonies  in  the  acknowledgment  of  com- 
mon loyalties  there  went  an  increasing  emphasis  upon  the 
rights  of  groups  and  of  individuals?  The  problem  of  the 
rights  of  the  individual  state  that  finally  resulted  in  a  disas- 
trous war  was  but  one  phase  of  a  particularistic  ethic  that 
extended  down  to  the  most  insignificant  individual.  This  tri- 
umphant individualism  found  expression  in  the  Jacksonian 
democracy  analyzed  with  such  brilliant  insight  by  DeTocque- 
ville. 

The  forces  that  created  the  individualism  that  dominated 
American  life  for  the  best  part  of  the  last  century  were 
complex  and  varied.  In  part  they  were  religious,  growing  out 
of  the  particularism  inherent  in  Protestantism  from  the 
very  beginning  and  constantly  manifesting  itself  in  the  mul- 
tiplication of  sects.  In  part  it  was  the  product  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  doctrine  of  natural  rights  which  tended  to 
endow  the  individual  with  a  God-given  heritage  of  privileges 
and  immunities  that  survive  even  after  the  state  has  been 
destroyed.  In  part  American  individualism  was  the  result 
of  the  psychological  training  gained  by  a  people  living  a  pio- 

43. 


44  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

neer  life  and  constantly  engaged  in  an  arduous  struggle  with 
the  elementary  forces  of  nature.  And  finally  the  very  struc- 
ture and  intent  of  American  political  institutions,  carefully 
planned  so  as  to  prevent  by  means  of  a  system  of  "  checks 
and  balances  "  the  undue  centralization  of  power  in  the  hands 
of  any  one  phase  of  the  government,  tended  to  throw  the 
individual  and  the  group  upon  their  own  resources  and  to 
minimize  all  forms  of  central  authority. 

§  i.   THE  RELIGIOUS  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

The  antecedents  of  American  individualism,  so  far  as  re- 
ligion is  concerned,  date  immediately  from  the  Puritan  Revo- 
lution of  the  seventeenth  century,  in  which  we  find  the  logical 
implications  of  the  individualism  of  the  Reformation  and  of 
early  Christianity  fully  realized.  The  characteristic  of  Protes- 
tantism is  that  it  returned  to  the  early  Christian  teaching  of 
the  immediate  responsibility  of  the  individual  to  God.  The  set- 
ting for  the  resulting  intensification  of  the  individual  and  his 
responsibilities  was  provided  by  the  sense  of  solidarity  in  a 
sublimated  spiritual  order  binding  God  and  the  redeemed  sons 
of  men  together  in  most  intimate  fellowship.  Stripped  of 
theological  terminology,  the  essence  of  this  solidarity  was 
intimate,  immediate,  and  eternal  contact  with  the  supreme 
source  of  moral  and  spiritual  values.  "  Puritanism  ",  remarks 
Dowden,  "  maintained,  as  far  as  possible,  that  the  relation  be- 
tween the  invisible  spirit  of  man  and  the  invisible  God  was 
immediate  rather  than  mediate.  It  set  little  store  by  tradition 
because  God  had  spoken  to  man  directly  in  the  words  of 
revelation.  It  distrusted  human  ceremonies,  because  they 
stood  between  the  creature  and  his  Creator;  the  glory  of  the 
Christian  temple  is  the  holiness  of  the  living  temple  which 
rises  in  the  heart  of  the  child  of  God.  The  pretensions  of  an 
ecclesiastical  hierarchy  are  an  estrangement  of  an  adopted 
son  of  the  Father;  every  lay  Christian  is  himself  a  royal  priest. 
The  Calvinistic  doctrines  on  which  Matthew  Arnold  laid  such 
extreme  and  exclusive  stress  were  maintained  because  they 
were  held  to  be  Scriptural,  and  also  because  they  seemed  to 


RELIGIOUS  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       45 

bring  the  divine  agency  immediately  into  every  part  of  human 
life;  predestination  meant  the  presence  of  God's  foreknowl- 
edge and  God's  will  in  every  act  and  thought  that  pulsates 
on  the  globe;  imputed  righteousness  meant  that  Christ  and 
his  faithful  follower  were  regarded  by  the  Father  as  one;  and 
through  faith,  which  justifies  the  believer,  that  union  is  ef- 
fected "/ 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  overestimate  the  influence  of  this 
religious  individualism  upon  American  thought  and  life.  Its 
secret  is  to  be  found  in  its  emphasis  of  personality.  Not 
merely  humility  and  loving  submission  to  the  will  of  God  but 
likewise  a  militant  self-assertion  and  cooperation  in  the  work- 
ing out  of  a  divine  plan  characterized  the  Puritan.  The  in- 
spiring sense  of  a  noble  mission  on  earth,  the  feeling  of  dig- 
nity kindled  by  the  belief  that  God  has  preferred  the  individual 
to  tens  of  thousands  of  his  fellows,  and  the  gratitude  and  con- 
fidence born  of  this  undeserved  grace  all  combined  to  intensify 
in  unparalleled  fashion  the  sense  of  personal  worth. 

Most  significant  was  the  tendency  of  Puritanism  to  throw 
the  individual  back  upon  his  own  resources.  In  Bunyan's 
masterpiece  there  are  but  three  actors,  God,  the  Devil,  and 
one  anxious  human  heart.  To  Christian  alone  came  the  sum- 
mons to  begin  the  fateful  journey;  other  lonely  travelers 
greeted  him  occasionally  and  each  went  his  way  on  the  "  great 
personal  adventure";  enemies  rose  in  his  path,  even  the  arch 
enemy  Apollyon,  all  of  whom  the  pilgrim  met  single-handed; 
down  into  the  river  of  death  and  finally  through  the  gates  into 
the  celestial  city  he  passed,  alone.  For  the  Puritan  "  the  deep- 
est community  is  found  not  in  institutions,  or  corporations, 
or  churches,  but  in  the  secrets  of  the  solitary  heart ".  The 
Puritan  took  his  punishments  as  he  did  his  salvation,  alone. 
No  preacher  could  help  him  for  only  the  elect  receive  God's 
message  of  grace;  no  sacrament  availed  for  the  means  of 
grace  are  contingent  upon  the  divine  will;  no  church  was 
indispensable  for  while  it  was  true  extra  ecclesiam  nulla  salus 
it  was  also  true  that  the  election  of  the  individual  antedated 

1  Puritan  and  Anglican,  p.  II. 


46  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

the  church  and  made  the  church  necessary;  not  even  God 
himself  could  reverse  the  decree  that  the  divine  sacrifice  in 
Christ  was  for  the  elect  only.  Thus  did  the  Puritan  theology 
tend  to  cultivate  an  individualism  that  was  tragic  in  the  isola- 
tion and  the  intensity  of  its  ethical  inwardness.  Friendship  in 
the  ancient  sense  became  almost  a  forgotten  virtue  in  Puritan 
communities;  it  had  no  place  in  such  a  militant  and  self- 
sufficient  individualism.  Puritan  literature  warns  again  and 
again  against  the  snares  of  human  help  and  sympathy.  Even 
the  gentle  Baxter  advises  against  intimate  friendships  and 
the  virile  Thomas  Adams  writes,  "  The  knowing  man  is  be- 
hind in  no  man's  cause,  but  best  sightest  in  his  own.  He 
confines  himself  to  the  circles  of  his  own  affairs,  and  thrusts 
his  fingers  not  in  needless  fires.  .  .  .  He  sees  the  falseness 
of  it  (the  world)  and  therefore -learns  to  trust  himself  ever, 
others  so  far  as  not  to  be  damaged  by  their  disappointment ". 
The  psychological  effect  of  this  throwing  of  the  individual 
back  upon  his  own  emotional  life  was  far-reaching  in  its  in- 
fluence upon  social  life,  economic  development,  and  political 
ideals.  To-day  when  we  are  faced  with  the  problems  of  our 
complex  and  interdependent  social  order,  we  begin  to  realize 
what  a  serious  handicap  the  persistent  traditions  of  Puritan 
individualism  may  be  in  the  effort  for  social  readjustment. 
The  institutional  life  of  Calvinistic  communities  took  on  a 
singularly  impersonal  and  coldly  logical  character.  Men 
shared  their  ideas  but  not  their  feelings.  The  individual  never 
entered  whole-heartedly  into  the  social  and  institutional  life 
of  the  community  or  of  the  state.  There  was  always  a  part  of 
him,  and  that  the  most  intimate  and  personal,  which  others 
did  not  share;  this  most  intimate  and  real  self  was  reserved 
for  God.  The  phase  of  human  nature  that  gives  us  values, 
that  suffuses  the  hard  and  ugly  reality  with  the  softening 
touch  of  human  interest  and  sympathy,  was  reserved  for  the 
closet;  men  dealt  with  each  other  primarily  as  logical  rather 
than  feeling  beings  who  were  duty  bound  to  preserve  the 
preordained  structure  of  the  universe.  Thought  rather  than 
sentiment,  therefore,  controlled  even  in  purely  personal  con- 


RELIGIOUS  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       47 

tacts.  Hence  Baxter  observes  in  characteristic  fashion,  "  It 
is  not  fit  for  a  rational  creature  to  love  anyone  further  than 
reason  will  allow  us  ".  And  if  we  ask  the  reason  the  reply 
is,  "  It  very  often  taketh  up  men's  minds  so  as  to  hinder  their 
love  of  God  ".  Calvinistic  theology  became  "  a  ballet  of  blood- 
less logical  categories  ".  The  deeper  human  impulses  and 
sentiments  which  will  ever  defy  complete  logical  formulation 
were  sacrificed  in  the  attempt  to  secure  clarity  and  consis- 
tency. Even  the  Calvinist's  God  must  be  logical  at  the  peril 
of  becoming  thoroughly  unlovely  and  even  immoral.  In  com- 
munities with  Calvinistic  traditions  the  tyranny  exercised  over 
the  imaginations  of  men  by  glittering  abstractions  in  business 
or  politics  together  with  a  singular  moral  indifference  towards 
the  glaring  injustices  of  the  immediate  social  situation  is  a 
fact  only  too  familiar  to  the  social  reformer. 

Do  we  not  have  here  the  explanation  for  many  of  those 
curious  paradoxes  of  character  met  with  in  communities  that 
have  long  enjoyed  the  discipline  of  Calvinistic  traditions?  We 
often  find,  for  example,  a  cool,  calculating  utilitarianism 
joined  in  unholy  wedlock  with  an  entirely  other-worldly  meas- 
ure of  human  values.  Men  who  have  accumulated  millions 
through  methods  that  have  impoverished  and  brutalized  the 
community  often  give  of  this  wealth  to  the  support  of  foreign 
missions  or  to  the  endowing  of  religious  institutions  without 
any  feeling  of  moral  inconsistency.  We  find  a  careful  and 
systematic  effort  after  the  accumulation  of  this  world's  goods 
sometimes  united  with  almost  ascetic  indifference  as  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  creature  comforts  they  bring.  Frequently 
we  have  a  formal  acknowledgment  of  political  obligations,  even 
intensity  of  sentiment  organized  about  the  abstract  notions  of 
liberty  or  equal  rights  before  the  law,  together  with  a  surpris- 
ing lack  of  interest  in  the  purity  of  city  or  state  politics.  We 
find  great  pride  shown  in  the  successful  organization  and  ex- 
tension of  the  individual's  own  business  joined  with  little 
regard  for  the  effect  of  that  business  upon  social  conditions 
in  general. 

This  stark  individualism  is  due  to  the  fact  that  habits  of 


48  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

thrift,  of  self-sufficiency,  and  of  independence,  inherited  from 
previous  generations,  are  stripped  of  the  larger  moral  and  re- 
ligious sanctions  that  once  made  these  qualities  socially  valu- 
able. It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  God's  will  is  no 
longer  the  guide  of  the  consciences  of  most  of  the  descendants 
of  the  Puritans  and  Scotch-Irish.  The  situation  is  not  improved 
by  the  fact  that  no  effective  substitutes  have  been  found  for 
these  outworn  religious  sanctions.  Thrift,  initiative,  a  keen 
sense  of  personal  rights,  and  economic  self-assertion  may  be 
a  genuine  menace  where  prompted  by  a  selfish  and  unen- 
lightened individualism.  It  then  becomes  very  difficult  for 
men  to  distinguish  between  rights  and  legalized  selfishness. 
Only  through  the  moral  and  spiritual  perspective  of  a  noble 
ideal  are  men  enabled  to  see  that  often  what  they  contend  for 
so  earnestly  as  their  right  is  little  more  than  an  unearned 
privilege  that  happens  to  enjoy  the  sanction  of  law  or  of  social 
convention. 

§  2.   THE  POLITICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

There  is  a  close  affiliation  between  the  individualism  of 
Protestant  theology  and  political  individualism  in  American 
life.  As  we  have  seen,  two  ideas  in  Puritanism  made  for  ^- 
individualism.  The  first  was  the  sense  of  the  immediate 
responsibility  to  God.  This  lifted  the  individual  out  of  his 
social  setting.  The  ties  of  family,  community,  state  were 
negated  by  a  higher  and  more  compelling  loyalty.  This  served 
to  liberate  the  individual.  The  second  element  which  pro- 
vided the  liberated  individual  with  spiritual  dynamic  for  action 
was  the  notion  of  predestination.  The  idea  of  being  God's 
chosen  instrument  and  co-worker  in  the  execution  of  an  infinite 
plan  inspired  to  heroic  effort  and  heightened  the  feeling  of 
individual  worth  and  responsibility. 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  Puritan  conception  of  individual- 
ity rooted  in  the  idea  of  predestination  to  the  individualism 
of  modern  American  democracy  and  yet  there  is  a  very  real 
connection.  It  has  been  claimed  that  the  notion  of  natural 
rights,  embodied  in  Virginia's  famous  bill  of  rights  of  June 


POLITICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       49' 

1 2th,  1776,  and  later  written  into  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence and  forming  the  basis  of  American  political  individ- 
ualism, can  be  traced  back  through  John  Locke  to  Wyclif 
and  the  Reformation.  "  The  theory  of  natural  rights  ",  says 
Ritchie,  "  was  not  Locke's  invention.  Neither  he  nor  Jean 
Jacques  can  claim  the  credit  of  having  '  discovered  the  lost 
title  deeds  of  the  human  race '.  The  theory  of  natural  rights 
is  simply  the  logical  outgrowth  of  the  Protestant  revolt  against 
the  authority  of  tradition  ".  The  masses  of  men,  to  be  sure, 
were  ignorant  of  the  theological  doctrines  of  the  democracy 
of  Eden  lost  through  Adam's  sin  and  the  democracy  of  grace 
regained  through  the  second  Adam,  a  doctrine  which  Luther 
and  the  Calvinists  had  used  with  such  telling  power  against 
the  mediaeval  church.  But  the  leveling  effect  of  these  ideas 
is  distinctly  present  in  the  doggerel  of  the  followers  of  John 
Ball,  the  mad  Wycliffite  priest  of  Kent, 

"  When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span, 
Who  was  then  the  gentleman?  " 

In  the  next  century,  under  the  pressure  of  their  struggle 
against  political  injustice  masquerading  under  charters  and 
parliaments,  political  individualists,  led  by  John  Locke,  made 
their  appeal  to  natural  rights  just  as  the  reformers  before 
them  had  appealed  to  the  higher  rights  and  duties  of  the 
kingdom  of  grace  in  the  interests  of  religious  individualism. 
This  individualism,  originally  religious  in  origin,  now  appears 
stripped  of  its  theological  setting  and  hence  with  a  certain 
"  metaphysical  nakedness  "  which  only  their  enthusiasm  and 
the  pressing  necessities  of  their  situation  prevented  its  cham- 
pions from  perceiving. 

Locke,  to  be  sure,  clothes  his  doctrine  of  natural  rights  in 
religious  terminology  as  the  following  citation  from  his  second 
treatise  on  government  shows:  "The  state  of  nature  has  a 
law  of  nature  to  govern  it,  which  obliges  everyone:  and 
reason,  which  is  that  law,  teaches  all  mankind,  who  will  con- 
sult it,  that  being  all  equal  and  independent,  no  one  ought 
to  harm  another  in  his  life,  health,  liberty,  or  possessions: 


50  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

for  men  being  all  the  workmanship  of  one  infinitely  omnipo- 
tent and  infinitely  wise  Maker,  etc. ".  But  it  is  only  too  evi- 
dent that  Locke,  even  where  he  uses  religious  terms,  employs 
them  as  a  vehicle  for  ideas  entirely  different  from  the  doctrine 
of  political  rights  of  the  church  fathers  or  of  John  Calvin. 
He  has  parted  with  the  Calvinistic  idea  that  the  state  exists 
for  the  glory  of  God,  with  the  doctrine  of  the  divine  sov- 
ereignty, with  the  notion  of  predestined  inequalities  among 
men  and  with  the  idea  of  pious  submission  to  the  political 
authorities  as  agents  of  God.  We  have  in  Locke's  treatises 
in  reality  a  plastic  and  thoroughly  rationalized  political  indi- 
vidualism based  upon  an  essentially  utilitarian  social  philos- 
ophy. In  spirit  Locke's  political  philosophy  has  more  in 
common  with  the  egalitarianism  of  Rousseau  and  the  French 
Revolution  than  with  the  democratic  implications  of  Puritan- 
ism. This  is  significant  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Locke  in- 
fluenced the  drafters  of  the  Declaration  and  Constitution 
more  than  any  other  thinker. 

\/  From  the  Puritan  point  of  view  all  men  are  equal  in  the 

sight  of  God;  all  alike  are  members  of  a  democracy  of  sin. 
On  the  other  hand,  inequalities  among  men  were  divinely 
ordained  so  that  absolute  democracy  exists  only  sub  specie 
eternitatis.  Puritanism  thus  escaped  the  egalitarianism  of  the 
Latin  conception  of  democracy  reflected  in  Rousseau  and 
implied  in  Locke's  notion  of  the  "  state  of  nature  ".  Puritan- 
ism was  able  to  appeal  to  this  notion  of  the  absolute  equality 
of  all  men  before  God  when  radical  changes  were  necessary 
or  when  threatened  with  political  oppression;  the  doctrine  of 
the  divinely  ordained  differences  among  men  served,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  a  justification  for  social  inequalities  that  were 
the  inevitable  results  of  individual  spontaneity.  The  emphasis 
of  the  abstract  jus  naturale  by  the  Stoics,  Locke,  and  Rous- 
seau, tended  towards  egalitarianism;  the  Calvinistic  doctrine 
of  inherent  inequalities  tended  to  encourage  individuality. 
It  would  be  interesting  to  trace  the  extent  to  which  the  stub- 
bora  individualism  of  Calvinism,  especially  among  the  Scotch- 
Irish,  opposed  the  egalitarianism  that  came  in  with  the  spread 


POLITICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  INDIVIDUALISM       51 

of  French  influence  during  the  Revolution,  was  supported  by 
the  victory  of  Jefferson  over  Hamilton  and  found  expression 
in  Jacksonian  democracy. 

Certainly  we  have  a  curious  illustration  of  the  complexity 
and  the  contrariety  so  characteristic  of  American  democracy 
in  the  existence  side  by  side  of  Anglo-Saxon  individualism  and 
Latin  egalitarianism.  In  politics  much  sentimental  homage  is 
still  paid  to  the  average  man  while  in  industry  we  find  the 
most  rampant  individualism.  The  popular  revivalist  or  the 
skillful  political  spellbinder  makes  frequent  use  of  this  vulgar 
egalitarianism  that  masquerades  as  real  democracy.  This 
is  the  "  cult  of  incompetence  "  inveighed  against  so  strongly 
by  Faguet.  Mediocrity  and  even  vulgarity  are  lauded  for 
the  sake  of  silencing  criticism  and  winning  credit  for  a 
democratic  spirit  that  really  does  not  exist.  Convention- 
alities of  speech  and  conduct  are  cultivated.  Demos  wor- 
ships himself  in  his  glorification  of  the  average  man.  Ambi- 
tion for  place  or  power  is  "  camouflaged "  by  affecting 
mediocrity.  The  worst  is  not  the  deceit  that  this  entails  but 
the  fact  that  it  discounts  every  form  of  distinction,  discredits 
scholarship,  scientific  achievement,  or  artistic  talent.  Such 
cheap  egalitarianism  confuses  the  minds  of  men  so  that  they 
are  not  permitted  to  develop  ideals  of  excellence.  On  the 
other  hand,  by  glorifying  mediocrity  it  tends  to  establish  the 
rule  of  the  Philistine.  It  forgets  that  democratic  institutions 
are  well  worth  striving  for  while  equality  in  character  or  in 
those  values  that  we  associate  with  literature,  science,  or  art  is 
not  only  utterly  futile,  but  is  exactly  what  every  progressive 
society  must  avoid.  Social  progress  is  only  made  possible  by 
a  diversity  of  talents. 

There  is  evidence,  however,  that  this  vulgar  democracy, 
often  thinly  veiling  an  envious  spirit  behind  its  spectacular 
glorification  of  the  average  man,  really  plays  a  subordinate 
role  in  American  life.  Were  this  egalitarianism  more  firmly 
embedded  in  our  thought  and  life,  socialism  would  doubtless 
prove  to  be  more  popular.  But  in  England  and  America, 
thanks  apparently  to  a  vigorous  schooling  in  individualistic 


52  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

traditions,  men  still  trust  in  the  initiative  and  self-sufficiency 
of  the  individual  rather  than  in  the  various  forms  of  socialism. 
Socialism  in  England,  for  example,  tends  to  become  not  so 
much  a  genuine  socialistic  centralizing  of  institutions  and 
functions  as  an  extension  of  opportunities  for  self-help,  and 
there  are  indications  of  the  same  tendency  in  America.  The 
egalitarianism  made  popular  by  the  French  Revolution  is  still 
reflected  in  political  doctrines  or  graces  the  rhetoric  of  the 
Fourth  of  July  orator  but  in  practice  it  has  invariably  ship- 
wrecked upon  the  ingrained  individualism  of  American  life. 

§  3.   INDIVIDUALISM  ENCOURAGED  BY  FORM  OF 
GOVERNMENT  AND  THE  PIONEER  LIFE 

More  effective  in  fostering  the  individualistic  spirit  than 
either  religious  traditions  or  the  eighteenth  century  doctrine 
of  natural  rights  was  the  disciplinary  effect  upon  the  life  of 
the  American  people  of  their  form  of  government.  The  great 
fear  of  the  thirteen  colonies  was  power,  political  absolutism 
in  any  shape  or  form.  This  led  them  to  substitute  for  the 
authority  of  kings  or  nobles  or  even  of  Demos  himself  a  body 
of  authoritative  law.  In  the  various  bills  of  rights  and  finally 
in  the  Constitution  itself  they  thought  to  lay  down  in  com- 
prehensive form  the  eternal  principles  of  justice.  Through 
the  acknowledgment  of  the  sovereignty  of  these  principles 
they  hoped  to  assure  to  themselves  and  their  children  freedom 
and  democracy.  The  Constitution  and  bills  of  rights  were, 
to  be  sure,  only  the  Americanization  of  the  traditional  English 
liberties  embodied  in  the  Common  Law.  But  these  great 
conceptions  were  stripped  of  the  background  from  which  they 
had  sprung  in  the  mother  country.  They  came  to  be  viewed 
as  part  of  the  eternal  order  of  things,  as  natural  and  inde- 
feasible rights.  The  Constitution  was  looked  upon,  conse- 
quently, as  something  sacrosanct.  Its  mandates  partook  of 
the  same  indefectible  character  as  the  laws  that  hold  the  stars 
in  their  courses. 

The  adoption  of  the  Constitution  was  largely  the  work  of 
the  Federalists  led  by  Hamilton  and  Madison,  who  in  all 


INDIVIDUALISM  ENCOURAGED  53 

probability  accomplished  their  end  through  an  appeal  to  eco- 
nomic interests.  But,  once  adopted,  the  interests  of  both  the 
conservative  propertied  groups  and  the  element  of  radical 
democracy  led  by  Jefferson  and  later  by  Jackson  united  to 
uphold  its  authority.  For,  curiously  enough,  both  groups 
were  seeking  individualistic  ends  and  hence  desired  a  limited 
central  government  with  the  greatest  possible  freedom  in 
local  and  individual  matters.  The  real  purpose  upon  which 
the  desires  of  men  were  fixed  was  in  general  the  accumulation 
of  wealth  through  the  exploitation  of  the  vast  natural  re- 
sources of  a  virgin  land.  For  this  end  there  was  needed  the 
greatest  possible  scope  for  individual  initiative.  The  measure 
of  an  efficient  government,  therefore,  at  the  beginning  of  na- 
tional life  was  the  least  possible  interference  with  the  affairs 
of  the  individual,  in  fact  just  enough  of  government  to  facili- 
tate individualistic  ends.  Government  was  at  best  merely  the 
policeman  to  keep  order  and  protect  property.  The  power 
of  the  government  to  interfere  effectually  in  the  life  of  the 
individual  was  of  course  further  cribbed  and  confined  by  an 
elaborate  system  of  "  checks  and  balances  "  in  the  structure 
of  the  government  itself. 

Backed  by  a  government  thus  committed  to  the  encourage- 
ment of  every  form  of  individual  initiative,  the  men  of  the 
third  decade  of  the  last  century  set  about  the  herculean  task 
of  conquering  a  continent  and  laying  the  material  bases  of 
a  great  civilization.  The  effect  of  the  ethic  of  this  pioneer 
democracy  developed  in  the  arduous  struggle  with  the  forces 
of  nature  is  deeply  imbedded  in  the  spirit  of  American  life. 
One  can  still  see  it  writ  large  in  our  great  cities,  such  as 
Pittsburgh,  Chicago,  San  Francisco.  This  individualistic  pio- 
neer ethic  still  animates  for  the  most  part  business  enterprise. 
Its  most  characteristic  product  is  the  "  self-made  man  "  whom 
Americans  so  delight  to  honor. 

The  traits  of  this  triumphant  individualism  are  familiar. 
It  was  marked  by  a  certain  magnificence  of  outlook  due  to 
the  effect  upon  the  pioneer  imagination  of  the  sweep  of  great 
prairies,  the  volume  of  great  rivers,  the  monumental  mass  of 


54  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

mountain  ranges.  Bigness  rather  than  more  intensive  quali- 
ties was  the  pioneer's  measure  of  values.  This  is  seen  in  the 
contempt  for  details,  the  careless  disregard  for  the  pennies. 
Naturally  the  pioneer's  self-feeling  was  apt  to  be  exaggerated 
beyond  all  proper  proportion.  The  egotism  of  the  "  self-made 
man  "  is  the  result  of  perpetuating  this  pioneer  ethic  in  un- 
socialized  form  in  our  more  closely-knit  society. 

This  pioneer  ethic  was  characterized  by  a  boundless,  al- 
most immoral,  optimism.  The  optimist  is  one  who  through 
temperament  or  experience  is  inclined  to  believe  that  the  earth 
and  the  fullness  thereof  are  his,  that  the  forces  making  for  suc- 
cess and  happiness  are  on  his  side.  The  pessimist  is  one  who 
is  not  so  convinced  that  society  and  nature  are  fighting  his 
battles  for  him.  Intimate  association  with  the  unbounded  re- 
sources of  his  country  and  the  unfailing  response  of  bounteous 
nature  to  his  slightest  appeal  schooled  the  pioneer  into  an 
attitude  of  easy-going  confidence  in  his  own  powers  and  in 
the  future  of  his  country.  Such  a  flabby  optimism  was  ever 
ready  to  excuse,- excesses  and  even  violation  of  law.  Nothing 
could  really  go  wrong  in  a  world  where  everything  united  to 
convince  man  that  "  God's  in  his  heaven — All's  right  with 
the  world!".  Associated  with  this  uncritical  optimism  was 
the  belief  in  progress.  Life,  growth,  betterment,  increase  of 
material  welfare,  accumulation  of  power  and  of  pelf — these 
belonged  to  the  natural  order  of  events.  Progress  was  in- 
herent, natural,  inevitable;  it  was  not  a  thing  to  be  fought  for. 
The  unwritten  creed  of  the  promoter  was,  "  This  is  the  vic- 
tory that  overcometh  the  world  even  your  faith  ". 

American  individualism  is  marked  by  the  spirit  of  toler- 
ance. This  is  not  the  tolerance  that  is  born  of  a  deep  insight 
into  the  nature  of  the  social  problem,  that  realizes  the  neces- 
sity for  the  unrestricted  play  of  individual  temperaments  and 
beliefs.  It  is  rather  the  uncritical  and  good-natured  toler- 
ance of  the  man  who  feels  that  there  is  room  for  all,  that 
there  is  no  need  to  elbow  your  neighbor,  that  in  a  word  "  live 
and  let  live  "  is  of  the  very  essence  of  life.  Such  a  tolerant 
attitude  easily  made  a  place  for  corruption  and  gross  political 


INDIVIDUALISM  ENCOURAGED  55 

inefficiency.  It  was  a  tolerance  that  allowed  the  wasting  of 
natural  resources  and  the  exploitation  of  the  child  in  the  mill, 
that  permitted  the  "  boss  "  and  his  "  gang  "  to  live  like  para- 
sites off  the  community.  "  To  a  well-fed,  well-housed,  suit- 
ably mated  man,  few  beliefs,  opinions  or  prejudices  are  intol- 
erable; and  the  ready  humor  of  America,  tinged  with  the  joy 
of  mere  well-being,  was  both  an  antidote  and  an  alternative 
to  intolerance  ".* 

American  individualism  has  tended  to  emphasize  prosper- 
ity rather  than  welfare.  Not  the  betterment  of  men  and 
women  in  the  comprehensive  sense  but  rather  the  successful 
accumulation  of  the  crude  symbols  of  well-being,  such  as 
money  or  property,  was  the  immediate  goal  of  triumphant 
individualism.  The  pioneers  were  engaged  in  a  struggle  with 
the  forces  of  nature,  the  mastery  over  things,  the  task  of 
placing  at  the  service  of  humanity  the  crude  material  of  mine 
and  forest  and  field.  The  immediate  and  unchallenged  proof 
of  the  attainment  of  this  goal  was  of  course  wealth,  and  es- 
pecially the  generally  accepted  symbol  of  wealth,  money. 
Hence  we  have  the  most  striking  product  of  triumphant  in- 
dividualism, namely,  a  plutocracy  or  the  group  who  had  been 
most  successful  in  amassing  the  symbol  of  this  mastery  over 
the  forces  of  nature.  What  American  individualism  admires 
in  the  successful  millionaire  is  not  so  much  the  sheer  fact  of 
his  wealth  as  the  indication  this  wealth  is  supposed  to  give 
that  its  possessor  has  made  a  great  contribution  to  the  eternal 
problem  of  placing  the  crude  material  of  nature  at  the  service 
of  mankind. 

It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  from  the  stand- 
point of  triumphant  individualism  competition  is  the  funda- 
mental law  of  all  life.  All  that  was  asked  by  the  backwoods- 
man battling  with  the  Indians,  the  trapper,  goldseeker,  town- 
boomer,  or  promoter  of  every  kind  was  a  fair  field  for  all  and 
special  favors  for  none.  This  insistence  upon  unrestricted  com- 
petition was  taken  over  by  business  and  industry,  and  readily 
hardened  into  the  idea  of  a  fundamental  and  inexorable  law 

1  W.  Weyl,  The  New  Democracy,  p.  42. 


56  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

of  the  economic  world.  The  daring  spirit  of  the  pioneer 
was  easily  confused  in  business  with  the  gambling  spirit 
of  the  speculator.  The  successful  Wall  street  plunger,  manipu- 
lator of  railroads,  or  vender  of  watered  stocks  was  too  closely 
akin  in  his  methods  to  the  prospector  who  makes  a  lucky 
strike  to  meet  with  moral  condemnation.  There  is  a  modicum 
of  truth  in  the  statement  of  Weyl  that  America  became  "  one 
large  gambling  joint,  where  money,  success,  and  prestige  were 
the  counters,  and  the  players  were  old  men  and  young  women, 
pioneers  and  workmen,  holders  of  trust  funds,  and  little  boys, 
devoutly  reading  conventionalized  biographies  of  successful 
men  ".  The  role  of  pioneer  and  promoter  was  taken  over  by 
the  "  captain  of  industry  ",  who  still  retained  a  modicum  of 
the  ethics  of  the  pioneer  while  exercising  his  vast  power  to 
eliminate  individual  competition.  This  institutionalizing  of 
the  game  of  business  and  fixing  its  rules  was  done  at  first  in 
the  interest  of  selfish  individualism,  but  it  marked  a  decided 
advance  upon  the  earlier  chaotic  and  wasteful  period.  It 
made  possible  the  modern  highly  centralized  society  based 
upon  the  machine  process.  The  mistake  of  big  business  was 
that  it  did  not  change  the  old  individualistic  ethic  to  fit  the 
complete  transformation  of  the  whole  economic  regime.  The 
social  conscience  did  not  keep  pace  with  the  improvements  in 
business  organization. 

§  4.   THE  NEED  OF  A  NEW  INDIVIDUALISM 

It  may  appear  paradoxical,  even  incredible,  to  say  that 
here  in  America,  the  traditional  home  of  individualism,  the 
individual  is  in  danger.  But  such  is  the  fact.  The  integrity 
of  the  individual  is  threatened  by  the  rise  of  a  highly  cen- 
tralized and  mutualized  capitalistic  society.  We  are  trying  to 
solve  the  problem  of  the  social  order  in  terms  of  concepts 
formulated  for  the  most  part  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries.  But  the  individualism  demanded  by  the  modern 
order  cannot  be  based  upon  the  teachings  of  John  Calvin, 
John  Locke,  or  Adam  Smith.  It  cannot  be  defined  in  terms 
of  the  eighteenth  century  notion  of  natural  rights,  that  hoary 


THE  NEED  OF  A  NEW  INDIVIDUALISM  57 

"  metaphysical  jargon  "  that  ended  its  long  and  withal  useful 
career  when  it  served  as  a  text  for  Charles  Sumner's  turgid 
philippics  against  the  slave-power  in  the  United  States  Senate. 
What  is  needed  is  a  redefinition  and  rehabilitation  of  the  no- 
tion of  the  individual  in  harmony  with  a  closely-knit,  self- 
conscious,  social  democracy. 

This  rehabilitation  of  the  individual  has  been  made  dif- 
ficult because  of  the  triumphant  individualism  inherited  from 
other  days.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  business  world. 
The  deeply  ingrained  enthusiasm  for  entire  freedom  of  busi- 
ness enterprise  has  blinded  the  average  American  to  the  fact 
that  this  is  the  surest  and  quickest  way  to  strip  the  individual 
of  all  significance.  For,  obviously,  where  there  is  the  most 
unrestricted  economic  freedom  the  conditions  of  economic 
freedom  will  be  most  speedily  eliminated  through  the  rapid 
preemption  of  the  forms  of  natural  wealth  and  business  op- 
portunities. Then,  curious  to  relate,  those  who  through  the 
enjoyment  of  large  individual  freedom  have  effected  this  pre- 
emption of  resources  now  make  use  of  this  power  to  dictate  to 
the  masses  of  their  fellows  the  conditions  under  which  they 
shall  live  and  work,  thereby  circumscribing  their  lives  and  in- 
validating their  liberties.  Thus  does  individualism  of  the  old 
type  become  a  moral  Frankenstein  that  is  in  danger  of  being 
destroyed  by  the  monstrosities  which  it  creates. 

The  individualism  of  the  industrial  world  has  become  a 
spurious  individualism.  For  individuality  implies  uniqueness, 
distinct  qualitative  differences  that  arise  from  the  develop- 
ment of  different  human  capacities.  The  artist,  the  scientist, 
the  reformer,  the  entrepreneur  in  business  have  pronounced 
individualities  because  of  the  varying  human  values  their  call- 
ings have  cultivated.  But  the  business  world  is  governed  for 
the  most  part  by  one  standard  of  merit,  namely,  money- 
making,  profit-earning  power.  There  are  countless  ways  in 
which  the  money-making  impulses  find  gratification  but  all 
are  alike  in  that  they  stimulate  certain  phases  of  human 
nature.  Individuals  may  differ  from  each  other  in  the  extent 
to  which  they  are  successful  in  money-making  and  in  that 


58  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

sense  we  do  get  differentiations  in  personality  but  it  is  purely 
quantitative,  not  qualitative.  The  captain  of  industry  differs 
from  the  office  boy  or  the  mill-hand  only  in  capacity  for 
money-making;  the  character  in  each  case  receives  the  same 
stamp,  and  is  inspired  by  the  same  quantitative  standards  of 
value. 

The  apparent  individual  initiative  of  the  industrial  world, 
therefore,  is  in  many  ways  deceptive.  It  is  due  to  the  count- 
less repetition  of  activities  under  slightly  varying  conditions, 
all  of  which  have  the  same  goal,  the  same  incentive,  namely, 
profit.  The  distinctions  drawn  between  men  are  neither  real 
nor  intensive,  but  are  based  upon  a  rating  of  them  all  by  one 
standard,  earning  capacity.  The  greatest  compliment  that 
can  be  paid  to  the  man  highest  up  on  the  ladder  is  that  he  is 
"  a  wizard  at  making  money ".  Among  the  thousands  of 
human  beings  working  like  bees  in  a  vast  plant  there  are 
countless  precious  human  capacities  that  lie  dormant  or  are 
absolutely  ignored.  "  Mute  inglorious  Miltons  ",  men  with 
scientific,  artistic,  or  moral  gifts,  are  forced  to  fit  their  varied 
geniuses  into  one  colossal  mechanistic  scheme  that  knows  but 
one  measure  of  value — earning  capacity. 

The  uniformity,  the  endless  repetition  of  similar  situations, 
the  mechanical  measure  of  values,  might  be  excused  as  in- 
separable from  the  economic  situation.  It  is  quite  conceivable 
that  even  the  mechanical  situations  of  shop  and  office  might  be 
made  effective  in  the  development  of  personality  if  they 
could  be  inspired  by  moral  or  disinterested  motives.  Such, 
however,  is  not  usually  the  case.  There  are  doubtless  thou- 
sands of  men  in  mill  and  office  who  do  project  their  personali- 
ties into  their  work  and  by  forgetting  the  pecuniary  motive 
achieve  the  higher  levels  of  character.  "  But  in  so  far  as  such 
is  the  case,  it  is  the  work  which  individualizes  and  not  the 
unrestricted  competitive  pursuit  of  money.  In  so  far  as  the 
economic  motive  prevails,  individuality  is  not  developed;  it  is 
stifled.  The  man  whose  motive  is  that  of  money-making  will 
not  make  the  work  any  more  excellent  than  is  demanded  by 
the  largest  possible  returns;  and  frequently  the  largest  pos- 


THE  NEED  OF  A  NEW  INDIVIDUALISM  59 

sible  returns  are  to  be  obtained  by  indifferent  work  or  by  work 
which  has  absolutely  no  social  value.  The  ordinary  mercenary 
purpose  always  compels  a  man  to  stop  at  a  certain  point,  and 
consider  something  else  than  the  excellence  of  his  achieve- 
ment. It  does  not  make  the  individual  independent,  except  in 
so  far  as  independence  is  a  matter  of  cash  in  the  bank;  and  for 
every  individual  on  whom  it  bestows  excessive  pecuniary  in- 
dependence, there  are  very  many  more  who  are  by  that  very 
circumstance  denied  any  sort  of  liberation.  Even  pecuniary 
independence  is  usually  purchased  at  the  price  of  moral  and 
intellectual  bondage.  Such  genuine  individuality  as  can  be 
detected  in  the  existing  social  system  is  achieved  not  because  of 
the  prevailing  money-making  motive,  but  in  spite  thereof "/ 

1  Croly,  Progressive  Democracy,  p.  412. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books  :  BONAR,  JAMES  :  Philosophy  and  Political  Economy,  Ch.  IX ; 
CALHOUN,  A.  W. :  A  Social  History  of  the  American  Family,  Vol.  II, 
Chs.  2-10;  CROLY,  H.  C. :  Progressive  Democracy,  Chs.  2-5,  9;  TOCQUE- 
VILLE,  ALEXIS  DE:  Democracy  in  America,  Part  I,  Chs.  14,  15,  Part  II, 
Bk.  2,  Chs.  1-4;  DICEY,  A.  V.:  Lectures  on  the  Relation  Between  Law  and 
Public  Opinion  in  England  During  the  Nineteenth  Century,  Lecture  VI ; 
JEFFERSON,  THOMAS  :  Writings,  ed.  P.  L.  Ford,  10  vols.,  1892-99 ;  LOCKE, 
JOHN:  Treatises  on  Government,  1689;  MCMASTER,  J.  B. :  A  History  of 
the  People  of  the  United  States,  Chs.  17,  22,  24,  33,  44,  46,  50,  56,  75, 
87,  105 ;  PAINE,  THOMAS  :  The  Rights  of  Man,  ed.  M.  D.  Conway,  1894 ; 
RITCHIE,  D.  G. :  Natural  Rights,  1895;   STEINMETZ,  C.  P.:  America  and 
the  New  Epoch,  1916,  Chs.  3-7 ;  TURNER,  F.  J. :   The  Rise  of  the  New 
West,  1906;  WEYL,  W.  E. :  The  N-eiu  Democracy,  Chs.  1-5. 

2.  Articles:   TURNER,   F.   J. :   "The   Significance   of   the   Frontier   in 
American  History."    The  Fifth  P 'ear-Book  of  the  National  Herbart  So- 
ciety, 1899,  Pp.  7-41. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

THE  period  of  individualism,  that  has  left  such  a  deep  impres- 
sion upon  American  life,  came  to  an  end  about  the  time  of  the 
disappearance  of  the  western  frontier.  "  Up  to  and  including 
1880  "  remarks  the  Superintendent  of  the  Census  of  1890, 
"  the  country  had  a  frontier  of  settlement,  but  at  present  the 
unsettled  area  has  been  so  broken  into  by  isolated  bodies  of 
settlement  that  there  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  a  frontier  line. 
In  the  discussion  of  its  extent,  its  westward  movement,  etc., 
it  cannot,  therefore,  have  a  place  in  the  census  reports  ".  This 
is  a  simple  statement  of  a  fact  of  the  profoundest  significance 
for  the  understanding  of  the  evolution  of  American  ideals.  It 
meant  the  end  of  that  constant  expansion  westward  that  had 
moulded  American  institutions,  kept  the  nation's  life  fluid 
with  all  the  adventurousness  of  the  pioneer,  and  conditioned 
the  fundamental  conceptions  of  democracy.  It  meant  that  the 
individualism  of  the  frontiersman,  as  an  ever  present  and  con- 
crete reality,  had  begun  to  disappear.  The  influence  that  had 
dominated  the  nation's  life  and  thought  for  three-quarters  of 
a  century,  namely,  the  necessity  of  adjustment  to  the  con- 
stantly receding  frontier,  had  ceased  to  be  felt.  From  now  on 
other  forces  were  to  take  the  lead  in  the  shaping  of  ideals 
and  the  creation  of  problems.  The  nation  had  passed  from 
the  period  of  triumphant  individualism  to  that  of  the  machine 
process.  America  was  to  take  her  place  as  a  member  of  what 
Mr.  Graham  Wallas  has  called,  not  without  a  certain  euphemis- 
tic magniloquence,  "  the  Great  Society  ". 

It  is  possible  to  distinguish  three  stages  in  the  westward 
movement  that  ended  about  1880.  First  came  the  pioneer  who 
depended  for  the  most  part  upon  the  products  of  nature,  such 
as  the  chase  or  the  natural  vegetation,  for  his  support  until 

60 


THE  EFFECT  OF  INDUSTRIAL  REVOLUTION         61 

he  could  erect  his  cabin,  clear  and  till  his  few  acres  wrested 
from  the  wilderness.  Cut  off  as  he  was  from  communication 
with  home  and  exposed  to  the  hardships  of  a  new  country, 
the  lot  of  the  early  pioneer  was  hard  and  full  of  adventure. 
Along  his  trail,  now  transformed  into  a  passable  road,  aided 
often  by  canals  and  later  by  the  railroad,  came  another  gener- 
ation of  emigrants  who  added  field  to  field,  built  permanent 
houses,  erected  schoolhouses,  mills,  and  churches.  The  last 
stage  was  reached  with  the  advent  of  capital  and  business  en- 
terprise. The  early  settler  often  took  advantage  of  the  rise 
in  prices  and  sold  out  to  the  capitalist.  Towns  were  laid  out 
with  spacious  streets.  Factories  were  built.  The  natural 
resources  of  the  country  were  developed  in  scientific  fashion. 
The  frontier  dropped  farther  beyond  the  western  horizon. 
The  individualism  of  the  old  pioneer  type  was  no  more.  A 
new  era  of  reorganization  and  centralization,  the  age  of  "  big 
business,"  had  come.  The  moving  spirit  in  this  new  age  was 
the  financier  or  the  trust  promoter.  He  sought  first  to  bring 
order  out  of  the  chaos  and  wastefulness  of  the  earlier  pioneer 
who  reaped  where  he  had  not  sown.  The  immediate  instru- 
ment of  the  man  of  "  big  business  "  was  the  machine  which  he 
proceeded  to  apply  to  the  extractive  industries,  production, 
transportation,  and  the  like;  his  object  was  profits,  his  slogan 
was  combination,  and  with  him  came  a  trained  band  of  chem- 
ists, statisticians,  employment  managers,  foresters,  and  expert 
agriculturalists.  The  age  of  individualism  had  given  place  to 
the  beginnings  of  "  the  Great  Society  ". 

§  i.   THE  EFFECT  OF  THE  INDUSTRIAL  REVOLUTION  UPON 
ENGLISH  SOCIETY 

It  is  possible  to  understand  "  the  Great  Society  "  only  in 
the  light  of  the  historical  perspective.  For  it  is,  in  reality, 
the  outgrowth  of  the  Industrial  Revolution  and  the  rise  of  the 
machine  process.  The  Industrial  Revolution  began  about  1760 
and  ended  in  1830,  though  we  are  still  feeling  its  far-reaching 
effects.  England  illustrates  in  most  striking  fashion  the  effects 
of  the  rise  of  the  machine  process  that  made  possible  the 


62  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

Industrial  Revolution.  For  the  changes  in  English  society 
were  sharply  contrasted  with  an  old  and  well-developed  eco- 
nomic life.  Defoe  thus  describes  the  simple  domestic  system 
in  the  textile  industry  in  Yorkshire  about  1725:  "The  land 
was  divided  into  small  enclosures  from  two  acres  to  six  or 
seven  acres  each,  seldom  more,  every  three  or  four  pieces 
having  a  house  belonging  to  them;  hardly  a  house  standing 
out  of  speaking  distance  from  another.  We  could  see  at 
every  house  a  tenter  and  on  almost  every  tenter  a  piece  of 
cloth,  or  kersie,  or  shalloon.  At  every  considerable  house  there 
was  a  manufactory.  Every  clothier  keeps  one  horse  at  least 
to  carry  his  manufactures  to  market,  and  everyone  generally 
keeps  a  cow  or  two  or  more  for  his  family.  By  this  means 
the  small  pieces  of  enclosed  land  about  each  house  are  occu- 
pied, for  they  scarce  sow  corn  enough  to  feed  their  poultry. 
The  houses  are  full  of  lusty  fellows,  some  at  their  dye-vats, 
some  at  their  looms,  others  dressing  the  cloths;  the  women  or 
children  carding  or  spinning;  all  being  employed  from  the 
youngest  to  the  oldest ".  This  household  industry  underwent 
some  modification  by  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
The  workman  who  at  first  owned  his  own  tools,  bought  his  own 
raw  material  and  sold  the  finished  product,  now  found  it  more 
convenient  to  turn  these  phases  of  his  work  over  to  the  "  fac- 
tor "  or  middle  man,  who  thus  mediated  between  the  worker 
and  his  market.  We  have  thus  the  rise  of  the  entrepreneur 
or  the  capitalist  employer  so  familiar  in  modern  business, 
and  at  the  same  time  we  have  the  beginnings  of  the  modern 
capitalist  regime. 

This  domestic  economy  of  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century  was  essentially  mediaeval  in  character  and  was  based 
upon  definiteness  of  function  and  a  more  or  less  fixed  social 
status.  It  was  broken  up  by  a  series  of  striking  inventions 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  century.  Kay's  fly  shuttle  en- 
abled one  weaver  to  do  the  work  of  two.  This  placed  the 
pressure  upon  the  spinners  to  supply  the  needed  yarn,  caus- 
ing the  invention  of  the  "  spinning  jenny  "  of  Hargreaves  and 
Arkwright  (1767,  1768).  This  invention  transferred  the  pres- 


THE  EFFECT  OF  INDUSTRIAL  REVOLUTION         63 

sure  back  upon  the  weaver,  resulting  in  the  invention  of 
Cartwright's  power  loom  in  1785.  The  problem  then  was  to 
get  raw  material  enough  for  the  improved  methods  of  manu- 
facture and  this  demand  was  met  in  the  case  of  cotton 
by  the  invention  of  Whitney's  cotton  gin  in  1793.  These  in- 
ventions completely  transformed  the  old  domestic  system. 
The  invention  of  Watts'  steam  engine  in  1786  and  its  ap- 
plication to  cotton  manufacture  in  1795  and  to  the  iron  in- 
dustry solved  the  problem  of  energy  and  made  coal  and  iron 
the  basis  of  modern  industry.  It  is  possible  to  distinguish 
in  general  three  stages  in  the  industrial  evolution  of  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  and  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
turies. The  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  saw  the  effective 
exploitation  of  the  earlier  inventions  through  the  application 
of  steam  power.  During  the  first  part  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury the  possibilities  of  these  and  other  inventions  were  in- 
definitely expanded  by  the  application  of  steam  to  locomotion. 
The  last  stage,  beginning  about  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  saw  the  construction  of  machinery  by  machinery. 
This  enabled  the  expansion  of  the  machine  process  to  take 
place  much  more  rapidly  for  it  made  it  possible  to  extend  the 
machine  process  by  machine  methods. 

These  inventions  and  the  industrial  changes  they  made 
possible  completely  transformed  English  society  within  fifty 
years.  They  gave  rise  to  capitalism  or  "  the  gradual  concen- 
tration in  the  hands  of  individuals  or  corporations  of  money, 
plants,  implements,  raw  and  finished  materials  necessary  to 
the  production  of  commodities  ".  Industry  was  transferred 
from  the  village  and  the  quiet  country  side  to  the  noisy  and 
unsanitary  towns  that  now  sprang  up  like  mushrooms.  The 
population  of  England  in  1760  was  half  rural.  By  1860  the 
rural  population  had  dropped  to  37.7  per  cent  and  by  1890 
to  28.3  per  cent.  Great  stimulus  was  given  not  only  to  the 
production  of  wealth  but  to  the  growth  of  population.  The 
increase  in  the  population  of  England  and  Wales  from  1800 
to  1830  is  estimated  at  more  than  56  per  cent.  Most  funda- 
mental was  the  change  wrought  in  the  life  of  the  worker. 


64  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

The  old  domestic  system  gave  place  to  the  factory  system. 
Great  factory  buildings  were  erected  with  little  regard  for 
the  health  of  the  worker.  Broken  loose  from  his  old  tradi- 
tions, with  no  laws  to  protect  him,  and  at  the  mercy  of  a 
new  order  of  things,  the  worker  was  practically  a  slave. 
Division  of  labor  made  it  possible  to  use  women  and  children 
and  there  was  a  regular  system  of  transporting  children  from 
London  to  the  mill  districts.  "  These  little  slaves  worked 
night  and  day  in  relays,  so  that  the  beds  in  which  they  slept 
never  cooled,  one  batch  following  another  in  turn  for  its  share 
of  rest  in  the  filthy  rag  piles  ". 

These  radical  changes  in  the  industrial  life  of  England 
completely  disrupted  the  old  way  of  life.  The  laws  and  cus- 
toms shaped  under  the  old  domestic  system  were  discredited. 
The  sudden  increase  in  population,  the  rapid  transfer  of  work- 
ers to  the  cities,  the  exigencies  of  the  factory  system  with  its 
long  and  unregulated  hours,  the  advent  of  capitalism,  the  sup- 
planting of  the  old  intimate  relations  of  the  household  indus- 
try by  the  regime  of  the  entrepreneur  with  his  hundreds  of 
employees  towards  whom  he  sustained  only  an  impersonal  re- 
lation, these  and  many  other  factors  made  obsolete  the  social 
norms  by  which  men  had  regulated  their  relations  to  each  other. 
The  gap  left  by  the  decay  of  the  old  social  philosophy  was 
filled  by  the  economic  individualism  of  Adam  Smith  and  his 
followers.  The  principle  "  each  for  himself  and  the  devil 
take  the  hindmost "  became  the  accepted  industrial  and  po- 
litical creed. 

The  strain  caused  by  these  radical  changes  was  more  than 
even  English  society  with  its  traditional  toughness  could 
stand.  In  1819  occurred  a  labor  revolt  that  frightened  the 
government  into  the  suspension  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act 
in  the  interest  of  public  safety.  In  the  long  series  of  legisla- 
tive acts,  beginning  with  the  Factory  Act  of  1802  and  cul- 
minating in  the  remarkable  social  legislation  of  the  last  two 
or  three  decades,  we  have  faithfully  registered  the  attempts 
of  enlightened  public  sentiment  in  England  to  adjust  itself 
to  the  new  order  created  by  the  Industrial  Revolution  and  the 


THE  EFFECT  OF  INDUSTRIAL  REVOLUTION         65 

machine  process.  These  legislative  acts  indicate  in  a  most 
interesting  fashion  the  gradual  undermining  of  the  old  in- 
dividualistic philosophy  of  Adam  Smith,  Bentham  and  John 
Stewart  Mill  through  the  social  discipline  provided  by  a  new 
order.  From  the  Railroad  Companies  Acts  of  1823  and  in  the 
subsequent  Joint  Stock  Companies  Acts,  supported  indeed  by 
Liberals  with  their  individualistic  traditions,  we  can  detect 
an  increasing  tendency  on  the  part  of  the  government  to 
interfere  in  matters  of  business.  Under  the  pressure  of  the 
problems  created  by  "  the  Great  Society  "  men  not  only  tol- 
erated this  increased  power  of  the  state  at  the  expense  of  the 
doctrines  of  the  traditional  laissez  jaire  philosophy  but  they 
demanded  it  in  the  interest  of  social  justice. 

The  fundamental  alteration  through  which  English  so- 
ciety passed  between  1830  and  1900  is  strikingly  illustrated 
by  a  comparison  of  the  owner  of  a  coach  in  1830  with  the 
owner  of  a  railroad  in  1900.  "  The  coach-owner ",  says 
Dicey,  "  set  up  his  business  at  his  own  will  and  carried  it 
on,  broadly  speaking,  on  his  own  terms;  he  possessed  no  legal 
monopoly,  he  asked  no  legal  privileges;  he  needed  no  Act 
of  Parliament  which  should  authorize  him  to  take  the  prop- 
erty of  others  on  terms  of  compulsory  purchase,  or  generally 
to  interfere  with  the  property  rights  of  his  neighbors.  If  his 
concern  prospered  his  success  was  attributable  to  his  own 
resources  and  sagacity,  and  enforced  the  homely  lesson  that 
wealth  is  the  reward  of  a  man's  own  talent  and  energy.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  business  of  a  coach-owner  which  even 
suggested  the  expediency  of  the  government  undertaking  the 
duties  of  carriers.  A  railroad  company,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  the  creature  of  the  state.  It  owes  its  existence  to  an  Act 
of  Parliament.  It  carries  on  business  on  terms  more  or  less 
prescribed  by  Parliament.  It  could  not  in  practice  lay  down 
a  mile  of  its  railways  unless  it  were  empowered  to  interfere 
with  the  property  rights  of  others,  and  above  all,  to  take 
from  landowners,  under  a  system  of  compulsory  purchase, 
land  which  the  owners  may  deem  worth  much  more  than  the 
price  which  they  are  compelled  to  take,  or  which  they  may 


66  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

be  unwilling  to  sell  at  any  price  whatever.  The  success  of  a 
railway  company  is  the  triumph,  not  of  individual,  but  of 
corporate  energy,  and  directs  popular  attention  to  the  advan- 
tage of  collective  rather  than  of  individual  action.  The  fact, 
moreover,  that  a  business  such  as  that  of  a  railroad  company, 
the  due  transaction  whereof  is  of  the  highest  importance  to 
the  nation,  must  under  the  conditions  of  modern  life  be  man- 
aged by  a  large  corporation,  affords  an  argument — as  to  the 
force  whereof  there  may  be  a  wide  difference  of  opinion — in 
favor  of  the  control  or  even  the  management  of  railways  by 
the  state  ". 1  The  railroad  is  only  one  of  countless  illustrations 
of  the  educative  effect  of  the  closely-knit  and  highly-mutual- 
ized  social  order  of  to-day  upon  the  minds  of  men  in  regard 
to  such  fundamental  issues  as  property,  contract,  competition 
and  the  like.  The  advent  of  "  the  Great  Society  "  has  trans- 
formed the  traditional  individualism  of  the  English  Liberal 
into  a  collectivistic,  not  to  say  a  socialistic,  philosophy. 

§  2.   THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  IN 
AMERICA 

The  effects  of  the  Industrial  Revolution  were  more  marked 
in  England  than  in  America.  When  the  revolution  came  Eng- 
land had  a  well-developed  economic  system.  The  changes 
wrought  by  the  machine  process  stand  out,  therefore,  all  the 
more  sharply  because  contrasted  with  the  old  order.  In 
America,  on  the  other  hand,  the  changes  wrought  by  the 
machine  process  were  free  to  operate  where  all  was  eco- 
nomically new.  Ancient  guild  systems  or  traditions  as  to 
land  tenure  and  trade  did  not  have  to  be  superseded.  The 
fundamental  changes  of  the  Industrial  Revolution  were 
wrought  into  the  fabric  of  American  business  life  along  with 
the  expansion  of  that  life.  Hence  the  spirit  of  the  machine 
process  is  more  gradually  but  more  deeply  ingrained  into 
the  thought  and  life  of  America  than  of  any  other  great 
nation.  We  accept  its  philosophy  all  the  more  readily  be- 
cause we  have  known  no  other  system.  We  lack  the  perspec- 

1  Dicey,  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England,  pp.  246  f . 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY          67 

tive  enjoyed  by  the  Englishman  that  enabled  him  the  better 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  these  fundamental  changes  and 
provided  him  with  a  point  of  view  for  their  evaluation  and 
control.  The  problem  of  the  machine  process  in  America, 
therefore,  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  the  disruption  of  old 
social  traditions  as  the  more  vital  question  of  the  effect  of 
the  reign  of  the  machine  upon  human  nature  and  the  spirit  of 
free  democratic  institutions. 

The  forces  of  the  Industrial  Revolution  were  felt  more 
tardily  in  American  than  in  English  society  for  a  number 
of  reasons.  Even  before  the  beginning  of  the  Industrial 
Revolution  the  policy  of  England  towards  the  colonies  did 
not  tend  to  encourage  manufactures.  During  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries  English  manufacturers  strove 
to  protect  their  own  products  from  colonial  competition 
while  assuring  themselves  a  monopoly  of  the  colonial  mar- 
ket. Exportation  of  woolen  yarn  or  cloth  from  the  colonies 
was  prohibited  as  early  as  1699.  A  commission  appointed 
to  investigate  colonial  manufactures  forbade  the  exporta- 
tion of  beaver  hats  in  response  to  a  petition  of  the  London 
hatters.  In  1750  the  erection  of  rolling  mills  and  plate, 
forge,  or  steel  furnaces  was  strictly  forbidden.  These 
restrictions,  to  be  sure,  were  often  evaded  but  the  irrita- 
tion they  gave  rise  to  was  a  fruitful  source  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution.  English  manufacturers  jealously  guarded 
the  inventions  that  made  possible  the  Industrial  Revolution. 
In  1782  a  fine  of  $2,500  was  placed  upon  the  exportation  of 
the  machinery  used  in  the  cotton  and  iron  industries.  The 
American  manufacturers  were  forced  to  smuggle  in  these 
inventions  or  duplicate  them,  which  methods  were  followed 
so  successfully  that  by  the  close  of  the  century  Americans 
were  in  possession  of  practically  all  the  secrets  of  the  Eng- 
lish inventors.  Samuel  Slater,  an  apprentice  in  Arkwright's 
firm,  memorized  the  mechanical  details  of  the  inventions, 
came  to  America  in  1789  and  set  up  at  Pawtucket,  Rhode 
Island,  a  mill  equipped  with  the  new  machinery,  from  which 
achievement  dates  cotton  manufacture  in  America. 


68  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

The  first  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  saw  the  firm 
establishment  of  the  machine  process  in  America.  The  dis- 
turbed conditions  in  Europe  together  with  the  War  of  1812 
tended  to  throw  this  country  back  upon  its  own  resources. 
This  encouraged  greatly  the  manufacture  of  commodities 
formerly  imported  from  England.  The  census  of  1840  showed 
the  value  of  manufactures  to  be  almost  five  hundred  millions 
of  dollars  as  opposed  to  fifty-two  millions  in  1820.  But  the 
growth  of  the  factory  system  was  slow  as  compared  with  that 
of  England  owing  to  the  competition  of  English  goods,  the 
attractions  of  agriculture  and  the  constant  expansion  towards 
the  west.  The  period  from  1840  to  1860  saw  a  much  more  in- 
tensive spread  of  the  machine  process.  The  manufacturing 
processes  that  had  been  fairly  diffused  over  the  country  by 
the  movement  of  the  population  were  still  further  stimulated 
by  inventions  such  as  the  telegraph,  the  sewing  machine,  plan- 
ing machines,  the  steam  hammer,  the  rotary  printing  press. 
The  invention  of  mowers,  reapers,  cultivators,  drills  and  seed- 
sowers  brought  such  an  effective  application  of  the  machine 
process  to  agriculture  as  to  revolutionize  it  entirely.  Previous 
to  the  Civil  War  the  applications  of  the  machine  process 
were  confined  for  the  most  part  to  transportation  by  water 
and  rail  and  to  the  extractive  industries  such  as  agriculture. 
The  era  of  pure  manufacture  was  yet  to  come. 

The  period  from  1860  to  1880  witnessed  the  application 
of  the  machine  to  industry  to  such  an  extent  as  to  cause  an 
industrial  revolution  little  short  of  that  in  England  just  a  cen- 
tury earlier.  The  causes  of  this  rapid  expansion  of  the  ma- 
chine process  were  various.  The  great  demand  for  all  com- 
modities caused  by  the  waste  of  the  war  was  an  immediate 
stimulus  to  production.  The  rapid  development  of  the  West 
had  increased  its  purchasing  power  and  thus  widened  the 
market  for  the  products  of  eastern  mills.  The  unprecedented 
development  of  the  transportation  system — the  railroad  mile- 
age grew  from  30,635  in  1860  to  92,296  in  1880 — drew  pro- 
ducer and  consumer  closer  together.  Finally,  the  imposition  of 
heavy  war  tariffs  upon  foreign  goods  gave  to  the  domestic 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY          69 

manufacturers  control  over  the  home  market.  This  fact  of 
the  control  of  the  home  market  was  of  supreme  importance  for 
the  future  evolution  of  the  machine  process  in  America.  For 
it  has  been  well  said,  "  The  main  land  of  the  United  States 
is  the  largest  area  in  the  civilized  world  which  is  thus  un- 
restricted by  customs  (duties),  excises  or  national  prejudice, 
and  its  population  possesses,  because  of  its  great  collective 
wealth,  a  larger  consuming  capacity  than  that  of  any  other 
nation  ".  Supported  by  this  vast  home  market,  machine  in- 
dustry in  this  country  laid  the  basis  broad  and  deep  for  the 
vast  industrial  system  of  the  present.  Without  it  "  big  busi- 
ness "  would  be  impossible. 

The  keynote  of  American  industrial  evolution  from  1880 
to  the  present  has  been  combination  and  centralization. 
Slowly  the  single-entrepreneur  organization,  the  partnership 
and  the  joint  stock  company  have  given  place  to  the  corpora- 
tion. Thirty  per  cent  of  all  manufacturing  plants  are  now 
operated  as  corporations;  80  per  cent  of  the  manufactured 
products  of  the  country  come  from  corporations.  In  some 
lines  of  manufacture  such  as  steel,  gas,  lead,  oil  products, 
sugar,  meat,  and  woolen  goods  the  control  of  the  corporation 
is  practically  absolute.  But  the  concentration  in  the  form  of 
corporate  business  enterprise  in  production  is  only  one  phase 
of  the  general  tendency  to  concentrate.  Concentration  of 
production  has  brought  concentration  of  population  in  cities 
and  industrial  districts.  There  is  the  same  tendency  to  con- 
centrate in  transportation  facilities,  both  by  rail  and  water, 
and  in  the  means  of  communication  as  in  the  telephone  and 
the  telegraph.  Concentration  in  high  finance  led  to  the  ap- 
pointment of  a  Congressional  committee  "  to  investigate  the 
concentration  of  control  of  money  and  credit ".  Concentra- 
tion of  wealth  has  reached  the  stage  where  2  per  cent  of  the 
population  own  60  per  cent  of  the  wealth  of  the  country. 
Concentration  in  other  phases  of  modern  life  have  come  for 
the  most  part,  however,  as  corollaries  of  concentration  in 
business.  For  the  concentration  of  private  control  of  indus- 
trial activities  through  trusts,  pools,  holding  companies,  in- 


70  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

terlocking  directorates,  or  otherwise  has  now  become  the 
order  of  the  day.  Great  corporations  such  as  the  Standard 
Oil  or  the  United  States  Steel  extend  their  lines  of  business 
enterprise  far  beyond  oil  and  steel  and  control  numerous 
smaller  concerns  more  or  less  remotely  connected  industrially. 

This  large  scale  combination  is  made  possible  in  manufac- 
turing through  the  control  and  organization  of  a  tariff-protected 
home  market,  the  development  and  combination  of  railroads, 
the  standardizing  of  machinery,  scientific  methods  and  man- 
agement, and  increased  facilities  for  communication  such  as 
the  telephone  and  typewriter.  The  advantages  of  combina- 
tion are  the  introduction  of  improved  and  expensive  ma- 
chinery, the  elimination  of  waste  through  the  use  of  by-prod- 
ucts, easier  solution  of  the  problem  of  labor,  easier  handling 
of  raw  materials  and  marketing  of  the  finished  product.  The 
causes  of  large-scale  combination  are  to  be  sought  in  the 
social  conditions  peculiar  to  the  last  few  decades,  namely, 
the  preemption  of  natural  resources  and  decreased  opportun- 
ity for  speculative  gains  of  the  old  type,  the  business  risks 
connected  with  the  mastery  of  world-markets  now  opening 
up,  the  intensity  of  competition  due  to  narrowing  opportuni- 
ties, the  profits  made  possible  through  a  large-scale  and 
standardized  production  of  necessities  such  as  gas,  ice,  oil, 
steel,  meat,  tobacco,  or  sugar,  the  possibilities  of  increasing 
profits  through  overcapitalization,  and  finally  a  high  tariff. 
According  to  Mr.  Havemeyer  of  the  sugar  trust,  in  his  testi- 
mony before  the  Industrial  Commission,  the  tariff  was  a 
direct  incentive  to  the  formations  of  most  of  the  combinations 
previous  to  1900. 

It  is  apparently  a  far  cry  from  our  modern  highly  mutual- 
ized  and  corporate  life,  "  the  Great  Society  "  of  Mr.  Wallas, 
to  the  beginnings  of  the  Industrial  Revolution  in  England 
towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  But  it  should  be 
evident  from  this  sketch  that  the  connection  is  a  very  real  one. 
It  is  evident,  furthermore,  that  the  movement  in  the  last  stage 
of  which  we  are  now  living  includes  far  more  than  the  applica- 
tion of  certain  inventions  in  the  textile  industry.  The  discovery 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY          71 

and  application  of  the  vast  technology  of  the  machine  process 
to  the  satisfaction  of  human  needs  has  given  rise  to  the  philoso- 
phy of  the  machine  process  which  gradually  has  wrought  itself 
into  the  spirit  of  our  institutions,  altered  fundamentally  our 
way  of  life,  undermined  our  theories  in  economics  and  politics, 
and  invalidated  time-honored  beliefs  in  ethics  and  religion.  It 
took  Europe  several  generations  to  absorb  the  great  doctrines 
of  the  French  Revolution.  After  the  lapse  of  a  century  we  are 
just  becoming  aware  of  the  implications  and  applications  of  the 
Industrial  Revolution  for  modern  life. 

Broadly  speaking,  the  problem  created  by  the  rise  of  the 
Great  Society  is  one  of  adjusting  the  political  and  ethical  tradi- 
tions inherited  from  the  eighteenth  century  and  accentuated  by 
long  contact  with  a  frontier  community  to  a  way  of  life  shaped 
by  large-scale  manufacture,  the  big  city,  organized  labor,  and 
world-federations.  We  have  to  ask  whether  the  traditional 
norms  underlying  home,  school,  church,  and  state  provide  us 
with  adequate  solutions  for  the  problems  of  to-day.  Back  of 
those  norms  lie  generations  of  social  experience  under  a  simple 
agricultural  regime  that  was  essentially  individualistic.  It 
knew  no  system  of  complicated  prices,  no  mysterious  markets, 
no  profiteering  middle  man.  The  relations  of  employer  and 
employee  were  direct,  intimate,  personal,  and  regulated  by 
time-honored  customs.  The  worker  was  identified  with  a 
definite  community  and  did  not  wander  from  city  to  city 
or  state  to  state  like  the  industrial  nomads  that  harvest  the 
western  crops.  In  every  sphere  of  life,  industrial,  social, 
religious,  or  political,  authoritative  norms  inherited  from  the 
past  and  firmly  fixed  in  public  sentiment  cemented  the  various 
groups  into  one  organic  whole.  The  child  in  the  home,  the 
apprentice  in  the  shop,  the  laborer  on  the  farm  did  not  have  it 
in  their  power  to  stray  far  from  the  path  of  social  rectitude. 
The  body  of  authoritative  social  standards  hedged  in  the  indi- 
vidual and  presented  to  him  at  birth  final  solutions  of  many 
of  those  great  problems  of  life  which  to-day  each  faces 
single-handed  and  alone. 

The  Great  Society  with  its  vast  urban  agglomerates,  its 


72  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

impersonal  pecuniary  measures  of  values,  its  mad  struggle  for 
profits,  its  unprecedented  industrial  and  financial  combinations 
made  possible  by  the  machine  process,  presents  a  human  drama 
different  in  a  thousand  ways  from  the  simple  agricultural  com- 
munity of  the  past.  It  is  impersonal  in  its  relations,  quanti- 
tative in  its  measure  of  values,  highly  mutualized,  and  inter- 
dependent. But  the  sentiments  of  men  and  women  are  still 
organized  for  the  most  part  in  terms  of  the  old  individualistic 
regime.  The  doctrine  of  individual  salvation  is  still  sung  in  our 
hymns  and  preached  from  the  pulpit;  in  business  we  still 
insist  upon  unrestricted  competition,  freedom  of  contract  and 
property  as  a  natural  right;  in  politics  the  individualistic  laissez 
faire  democracy  of  Jefferson  and  Jackson  is  still  popular;  in 
education  we  are  hardly  able  yet  to  conceive  of  culture  except 
in  terms  of  the  privileged  and  caste  atmosphere  of  the  college 
of  colonial  days.  The  spiritual  poverty  together  with  the  com- 
plexity of  the  Great  Society  seem  to  threaten  it  with  moral 
bankruptcy. 

§  3.   THE  TRAITS  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  AS  ILLUSTRATED 
BY  THE  CORPORATION 

What,  in  general,  are  the  characteristics  of  our  modern 
industrial  order,  the  Great  Society  of  to-day?  First,  it  must 
be  observed  that  the  Great  Society  is  international  rather  than 
national.  In  spite  of  differences  in  race,  creed,  language,  or 
tariff  restrictions,  the  great  nations  of  Christendom  constitute 
one  vast  industrial  whole.  To  be  sure,  ideal  values  embalmed 
in  art,  literature,  law,  science,  and  religion  have  always  united 
America  and  the  nations  of  western  Europe  in  one  common 
civilization.  But  the  war  has  only  brought  out  the  more  clearly 
the  extent  to  which  community  of  interests  had  been  intensified 
by  the  discipline  of  the  Great  Society.  The  unity  which  Rome 
first  achieved,  which  was  perpetuated  in  sublimated  form  by 
the  mediaeval  Church,  now  bids  fair  to  be  permanently  secured 
through  the  implications  and  applications  of  the  machine 
process. 

Again  the  Great  Society  is  characterized  by  greater  mo- 


THE  TRAITS  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  73 

bility  than  any  other  period  of  the  world's  history.  The  highest 
efficiency  in  the  working  of  the  new  industrial  order  means 
not  merely  freedom  in  the  choosing  of  callings  and  the  adapta- 
tion of  talents  within  any  national  group.  There  is  necessary 
also  great  fluidity  among  populations  and  in  the  functioning  of 
capital.  For  the  exigencies  of  the  modern  industrial  order  re- 
quire something  approximating  the  internationalization  of 
both  capital  and  labor  so  that  they  may  flow  where  they  are 
needed  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  world's  work.  Similarly 
trade  is  opposed  in  spirit  to  all  artificial  barriers  and  seeks 
naturally  the  international  point  of  view. 

Finally,  the  Great  Society  is  both  materialistic  and 
idealistic.  Viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  the  machine,  we  are 
restricted  to  a  philosophy  of  physical  energy,  quantitative 
standardization  of  values  and  a  mechanistic  and  deterministic 
conception  of  the  world.  Furthermore,  ours  is  preeminently  a 
pecuniary  civilization.  Profits  are  the  driving  force  of  the  vast 
colossus  of  business  and  the  pecuniary  obligation  is  possibly 
the  one  form  of  the  ought  that  is  best  understood  and  obeyed 
by  every  class  of  Americans.  On  the  other  hand,  in  no  civi- 
lization known  to  history  is  the  humanistic  note  so  prominent 
and  the  confidence  in  man's  powers  so  strong.  One  looks  in 
vain  for  any  element  of  otherworldliness  in  our  militant  in- 
dustrialism. The  gospel  of  the  modern  order,  namely,  "  pros- 
perity ",  "  social  welfare  ",  may  not  occupy  a  high  spiritual 
level  but  it  is  robustious,  humanistic,  and  passionately  devoted 
to  the  things  of  this  world.  There  is  behind  our  efforts  for 
child  welfare,  conservation,  or  prohibition,  a  vital  and  com- 
pelling belief  in  a  better  world  yet  to  be.  But  this  is  not  the 
idealism  of  the  dreamer  or  the  mystic.  It  is  an  idealism  of 
action.  For  it  seeks  through  strenuous  and  unremittent 
struggle  with  the  problem  of  the  moment  to  make  clear  to 
itself  the  goal  of  endeavor.  The  American  people,  who  more 
than  any  other  have  incarnated  the  spirit  of  the  Great  Society, 
are  the  chief  representatives  of  this  idealism  of  action. 

It  is  in  the  corporation  that  we  find  best  reflected  the 
spirit  of  the  Great  Society  for,  as  we  have  seen,  the  corporation 


74  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

is  the  outstanding  feature  of  the  new  order.  In  the  typical 
corporation  there  are  three  groups,  the  stockholders,  the  di- 
rectors, and  the  salaried  manager.  The  stockholders  furnish 
the  capital  and  turn  over  the  policies  of  the  corporation  to  the 
directors.  These  in  turn  usually  intrust  the  actual  direction 
of  the  concern  to  the  manager.  Here  is  a  situation  that  en- 
courages moral  laxity  owing  to  the  failure  to  localize  responsi- 
bility. And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  temptation  to  take  advan- 
tage of  this  impersonal  power  of  the  corporation  has  been 
directly  responsible  for  one  of  the  darkest  pages  in  the  history 
of  American  morals.  An  economist  of  note  says  of  the  moral 
character  of  corporations:  "  Corporations  have  no  moral  stand- 
ards. Their  directors  have  shown  themselves  willing  to  wink 
at  practices  on  the  part  of  officials  they  appoint  to  which  they 
would  not  themselves  stoop.  Corporation  officials,  moreover, 
do  not  hesitate  to  do  things  in  the  name  and  under  the  cover 
of  the  corporations  which  they  would  be  ashamed  to  perform 
openly  for  themselves.  In  the  United  States  corporations  have 
been  guilty  of  buying  legislatures,  bribing  judges,  entering  into 
agreements  with  political  parties  insuring  them  certain  privi- 
leges in  return  for  campaign  contributions,  in  fact  of  every  sin 
in  the  political  calendar.  It  is  largely  owing  to  them  that  the 
tone  not  only  of  business  life,  but  of  political  morality,  is  so 
much  below  the  standards  of  private  morality  ".*  What  are  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  corporation  that  give  rise  to  these  criti- 
cisms? 

In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  cor- 
poration is  dominated  by  an  absolutely  rationalistic  spirit.  It 
is  the  choice  flower  of  the  machine  process  and  the  machine 
is  logical  or  it  is  nothing.  The  machine  is  the  physical 
incarnation  of  cold  impersonal  thought  processes  applied 
to  the  mastery  and  direction  of  physical  energy.  Just  as  Jef- 
ferson's natural  rights  doctrines  and  Adam  Smith's  laissez  faire 
principles  of  competition  and  "  enlightened  selfishness  "  were 
the  products  of  rationalism  in  politics  and  economics,  so  the 
Industrial  Revolution  is  the  result  of  the  application  of  cold 

1  Seager,  Principles  of  Economics,  p.  163. 


THE  TRAITS  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  75 

reason  to  industry.  There  is,  therefore,  justification  for  the 
oft-repeated  assertion  that  there  is  no  sentiment  in  business. 
Certainly  sentiment  did  not  preside  over  the  birth  of  the  cor- 
poration. When  this  last  prodigy  sprang  like  Minerva  full- 
armed  from  the  brain  of  the  "  captain  of  industry  "  it  was, 
like  the  blue-eyed  goddess  of  wisdom,  a  stranger  to  sentiment, 
the  very  incarnation  of  reason  as  applied  to  business.  Now  it 
goes  without  saying  that  pure  logic  is  neither  moral  nor  im- 
moral. The  logical  principles  embodied  in  the  steam  engine  or 
an  automobile  are  unmoral,  that  is,  they  are  indifferent  to  the 
eternal  human  struggle  for  the  morally  good.  For  we  can  only 
have  a  truly  moral  situation  where  there  are  freedom  and  con- 
tingency. Mechanism  and  morals  mix  as  little  as  do  oil  and 
water.  Not  without  justification,  therefore,  do  men  speak  of 
the  "  soulless  "  corporation.  It  is  soulless  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  machine  is  soulless,  for  both  the  machine  and  the  cor- 
poration are  the  products  of  the  same  great  movement,  the 
Industrial  Revolution. 

Again  the  corporation  tends  to  take  its  standard  of  values 
from  the  machine.  That  is  to  say,  the  corporation  knows  only 
quantitative  units  of  measurement.  Scientific  management 
contemplates  the  worker  as  the  incarnation  of  so  much  physical 
energy  working  in  time  and  space.  By  means  of  the  stop- 
watch and  otherwise  the  attempt  is  made  to  measure  this 
energy  in  spacial  and  temporal  units  so  that  there  may  be  the 
greatest  economy  and  efficiency  possible  with  the  given  human 
material.  Likewise  the  various  forms  of  human  activity  from 
the  stoker  of  the  furnace  to  the  manager  of  the  plant  are  all 
made  to  conform  to  a  quantitative  scale  of  pecuniary  values. 
They  are  estimated  in  terms  of  their  earning  capacity.  But 
there  is  a  vast  and  important  phase  of  human  experience  which 
this  quantitative  scale  of  measurement  ignores,  namely,  the 
realm  of  values.  Loyalty  to  home  or  country,  honesty, 
veracity,  not  to  mention  the  interests  that  belong  to  religion 
and  art,  can  never  be  caught  and  catalogued  by  any  quanti- 
tative method. 

Because  the  corporation  is  coldly  rationalistic  in  its  point 


76  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

of  approach  and  applies  only  quantitative  measurements  it  is 
impersonal  in  its  attitude  towards  men  and  things.  And  it  is 
the  impersonality  of  the  corporation  that  enables  us  to  under- 
stand its  moral  "  blind  spot."  The  moral  obtuseness  of  large- 
scale  business  is  not  an  indication  of  its  inherent  wickedness 
as  many  imagine.  Large-scale  business  as  at  present  con- 
structed simply  does  not  move  in  the  world  of  the  familiar 
moral  dimensions  of  the  average  man.  To  the  criticism  that 
it  ignores  the  good  old-fashioned  honesty  of  our  forefathers 
it  would  possibly  reply  frankly  that  it  does  not  "  carry  that 
line  of  goods."  Its  historical  background  of  methods  and  tra- 
ditions has  little  in  common  with  the  background  from  which 
the  average  man  draws  his  ethical  norms.  This  enables  us  to 
understand  the  curious  but  tremendously  significant  gap  that 
exists  between  the  philosophy  of  large-scale  business  and 
traditional  ethics.  The  stockholders  in  a  given  corporation 
move  at  the  level  of  traditional  ethics;  the  directors  move  in 
a  more  impersonal  atmosphere,  while  the  manager  who  deals 
with  his  men  on  the  one  hand  and  the  politician  on  the  other 
has  been  so  thoroughly  disinfected  morally  that  often  he  has 
little  more  conscience  than  the  machines  in  his  factory.  The 
traditional  ethics  he  may  observe  in  his  home  has  little  in 
common  with  the  "  business  proposition  "  which  he  must  face 
as  the  manager  of  a  huge  impersonal  corporation.  As  we  pass 
from  the  conventional  level  of  the  stockholder  to  that  of  the 
actual  workings  of  the  corporation  we  enter  another  realm 
with  different  standards  of  value  and  a  different  philosophy  of 
life. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  traditional  virtues  of  honesty, 
thrift,  and  the  like  have  disappeared  entirely  from  the  economy 
of  large-scale  business.  They  are  present  but  have  undergone 
a  curious  transformation  that  harmonizes  them  with  the 
spirit  of  the  machine  process.  They  have  been  transferred 
from  their  original  personal  setting  to  the  impersonal  and 
mechanistic  setting  of  the  corporation.  The  integrity  of  a 
corporation  is  judged  in  economic  terms.  Its  reliability  is  a 
matter  of  its  business  relations,  its  credit  or  its  control  of  re- 


THE  TRAITS  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY  77 

sources.  It  is  trusted  because  it  has  made  good  according  to 
the  impersonal  and  mechanistic  principles  that  dominate  the 
corporation.  These  principles  have  little  to  do  with  the  per- 
sonal morality  of  the  individuals  connected  with  it.  Honesty 
and  business  integrity  in  other  words  have  become  a  mechani- 
cal and  corporate  matter  from  which  the  personal  element  is 
largely  eliminated.  Likewise  frugality  has  been  deper- 
sonalized. Thrift  in  big  business  is  a  matter  of  the  application 
of  scientific  methods  to  the  elimination  of  waste.  The  director 
of  a  great  corporation  who  will  insist  upon  the  introduction 
into  his  business  of  every  device  for  the  saving  of  material  and 
labor  will  exhibit  lavish  expenditure  in  his  own  private  life. 
The  level  of  personal  morality  has  little  or  no  connection  with 
that  of  the  big  business. 

Now  it  is  evident  that  moral  responsibility  includes  the 
whole  of  a  man's  life.  It  is  inconsistent  to  live  a  righteous  and 
irreproachable  life  within  the  home  circle,  the  church,  and 
among  friends  while  playing  the  role  of  a  freebooter  as  director 
of  a  corporation.  But  we  often  find  that  the  individuals  who 
live  this  curiously  double  existence  in  many  cases  seem  to  feel 
no  moral  incongruity  in  their  conduct.  Why  this  curious  moral 
non  sequitur  in  our  modern  life?  This  brings  us  to  the  heart 
of  the  problem  so  far  as  the  social  conscience  and  the  Great 
Society  are  concerned.  The  solution  of  the  paradox  lies  in  the 
fact  that  there  are  vast  areas  of  our  modern  life  that  have  com- 
pletely outgrown  the  traditional  norms  of  the  social  conscience. 
For  it  is  a  familiar  fact  that  the  principles  of  right  and  wrong 
that  one  generation  applies  to  its  problems  are  usually  the 
product  of  the  moral  experiences  of  its  fathers.  Where  rapid 
changes  take  place  in  the  structure  of  society  so  that  the  ethical 
norms  inherited  from  the  past  do  not  have  time  to  adjust  them- 
selves to  the  present  there  will  always  be  moral  maladjustment. 
There  will  arise  spheres  of  activity  which  the  ethical  ideals 
of  the  past  do  not  completely  cover  or  for  which  they  are  utterly 
inadequate.  The  result  will  be  that  so  far  as  these  new  areas 
are  concerned  we  shall  have  moral  indifference,  perhaps  moral 
anarchy.  The  moral  anarchy  that  has  emerged  in  some  phases. 


78  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

of  "  big  business  "  of  recent  years  and  made  the  trust  anathema 
in  the  minds  of  many  good  people  is  merely  the  result  of  men 
trying  to  live  their  lives  and  conduct  their  affairs  in  situations 
for  which  there  are  no  accepted  and  authoritative  ethical 
norms.  For  this  moral  anarchy,  therefore,  we  are  to  hold 
neither  "  big  business  "  nor  the  "  captain  of  industry  "  pri- 
marily responsible  but  the  incompetency  of  the  social  con- 
science. 

A  decade  or  more  ago  a  brilliant  book  appeared,  with  an 
introduction  from  the  pen  of  President  Roosevelt,  in  which 
there  was  a  scathing  arraignment  of  the  trust-born,  latter-day 
iniquity.  "  The  man  who  picks  pockets  with  a  railroad  rebate, 
murders  with  an  adulterant  instead  of  a  bludgeon,  burglarizes 
with  a  '  rake-off '  instead  of  a  jimmy,  cheats  with  a  company 
prospectus  instead  of  a  deck  of  cards,  or  scuttles  his  town  in- 
stead of  his  ship,  does  not  feel  on  his  brow  the  brand  of  a 
malefactor.  The  shedder  of  blood,  the  oppressor  of  the  widow 
and  the  fatherless,  long  ago  became  odious,  but  latter-day 
treacheries  fly  no  skull-and-cross-bones  flag  at  the  masthead." 
One  detects  here  something  very  like  a  distortion  of  the  moral 
perspective,  otherwise  the  writer  would  temper  his  language 
with  the  reflection  that  the  heinous  crimes  ascribed  to  the 
"  criminaloid  "  or  new  type  of  sinner  created  by  the  Great 
Society  are  not  entirely  of  his  own  concoction.  He  is  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  occupy  a  place  in  modern  society  where  he 
becomes  the  scapegoat  for  the  bewildered  and  uneasy  con- 
science of  a  community  out  of  touch  with  its  time-honored 
traditions  and  groping  for  a  solution  of  its  difficulties. 

The  typical  sin  of  the  Great  Society  is  the  betrayal  of  trust. 
But  an  examination  will  show  that  betrayals  of  trust  through 
speculation,  graft,  jerry-building,  adulteration  or  otherwise, 
occur  in  just  those  areas  of  society  that  are  not  adequately  cov- 
ered by  traditional  ethical  sanctions.  The  profiteer  who 
through  a  combine  fleeces  the  public  would  scorn  to  wrong  a 
friend  or  betray  those  of  his  own  household.  The  problem  then 
resolves  itself  into  a  question  of  the  elimination  of  the  imper- 
sonality, the  anonymity  of  modern  life  that  is  made  an  excuse 


THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY      79 

for  moral  irresponsibility.  These  unprotected  and  outlawed 
areas  of  the  Great  Society  must  be  brought  under  the  rule  of 
an  enlightened  social  conscience. 

§  4.   THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

A  word  may  be  added  in  conclusion  as  to  the  future  of  the 
Great  Society.  The  mastery  of  machine  technology  and  the 
application  of  it  to  the  problems  of  production  and  transporta- 
tion and  the  like  have  undoubtedly  increased  to  a  vast  extent 
man's  power  over  nature.  The  dangers  of  famine  and  plague 
have  been  thereby  minimized  and  in  so  far  forth  human  life 
has  been  placed  upon  a  more  secure  basis.  But  out  of  the  very 
pooling  of  interests  and  powers  that  characterize  the  Great 
Society  and  the  mutualization  and  interdependence  this  has 
created  have  arisen  a  host  of  other  problems.  Financial  crises 
now  are  no  longer  affairs  of  single  nations  but  include  the 
whole  world  of  finance.  War  has  now  become  in  every  sense 
of  the  word  an  international  problem.  The  unspeakable  wrong 
and  suffering  caused  by  one  great  militaristic  nation  in  the 
heart  of  Europe  would  have  been  impossible  in  the  old  days 
of  isolation.  America,  notwithstanding  the  thousands  of 
miles  of  sea  that  separate  her  from  Europe  and  her  traditional 
doctrine  of  national  self-sufficiency,  was  drawn  into  the 
struggle,  a  most  eloquent  testimony  to  the  interdependence  of 
the  Great  Society.  Solidarity  instead  of  bringing  security  has 
only  multiplied  our  problems. 

Again  the  very  recency  of  the  Great  Society  and  the  arti- 
ficiality inseparable  from  the  large  part  played  by  the  machine 
process  in  its  creation  raises  the  question  as  to  its  power  to 
endure.  The  history  of  the  great  civilizations  of  the  past  seems 
to  show  that  they  have  suffered  more  from  the  inner  stresses 
and  strains  of  their  own  lives  than  from  outside  dangers.  With- 
out in  any  wise  committing  one's  self  to  a  pessimistic  view  of 
life  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  are  forces  at  work  in 
the  structure  of  the  Great  Society  as  it  now  exists  that  give 
us  pause.  The  very  real  dangers  that  have  arisen  from  the 
profiteer  and  the  realization  of  how  deeply  ingrained  is  his 


8o  THE  GREAT  SOCIETY 

point  of  view  in  business  ethics  are,  to  say  the  least,  not 
encouraging.  It  only  indicates  how  radical  must  be  any  recon- 
struction of  business  that  seeks  to  control  or  eliminate 
profitism.  The  impersonality  inherent  in  the  machine  process 
and  its  creature,  the  corporation,  suggests  the  long  and  thorny 
road  the  nation  must  travel  before  it  really  succeeds  in  mak- 
ing business  enterprise  completely  moral  and  rational.  The 
clash  between  powerful  group  interests  as  seen  in  frequent 
strikes  and  the  widespread  discontent  with  the  present  indus- 
trial and  political  orders  threatens  that  moral  solidarity  that 
lies  at  the  very  heart  of  democracy. 

These  problems  have  given  rise  to  a  fear  that  is  thus 
expressed  by  a  recent  writer.  "  Throughout  the  politics  and 
literature  of  the  twentieth  century  one  traces  the  fear,  con- 
scious or  half-conscious,  lest  the  civilization  which  we  have 
adopted  so  rapidly  and  with  so  little  forethought  may  prove 
unable  to  secure  either  a  harmonious  life  for  its  members  or 
even  its  own  stability.  The  old  delight  in  '  the  manifest  finger 
of  destiny '  and  the  '  tide  of  progress ',  even  the  newer  belief 
in  the  effortless  '  evolution '  of  social  institutions  are  gone. 
We  are  afraid  of  the  blind  forces  to  which  we  used  so  willingly 
to  surrender  ourselves.  We  feel  that  we  must  reconsider  the 
basis  of  our  organized  life  because,  without  reconsideration, 
we  have  no  chance  of  controlling  it.  ...  Our  philosophers 
are  toiling  to  refashion  for  the  purposes  of  social  life  the 
systems  which  used  so  confidently  to  offer  guidance  for  indi- 
vidual conduct.  Our  poets  and  playwrights  and  novelists  are 
revolutionizing  their  art  in  the  attempt  to  bring  the  essential 
facts  of  the  Great  Society  within  its  range."  *  The  uncertainty 
and  moral  bewilderment  caused  by  the  sudden  rise  of  the  Great 
Society  brings  us  to  the  topic  of  the  next  chapter. 

1  Wallas,  The  Great  Society,  p.  14. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

BEARD,  CHARLES  :  The  Industrial  Revolution,  1901 ;  BOGART,  E.  L. :  The 
Economic  History  of  the  United  States,  1913;  DICEY:  Law  and  Public 
Opinion  in  England,  Lectures,  VII,  VIII ;  GHENT,  W.  J. :  Our  Benevolent 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  81 

Feudalism,  1902;  HANEY,  L.  H. :  Business  Organization  and  Combination, 
pp.  39  ff. :  HOBSON,  L.  A. :  The  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  1917 ; 
MARSHALL,  L.  C. :  Readings  in  Industrial  Society,  1918;  Ross,  E.  A.: 
Sin  and  Society,  1907;  STEINMETZ,  C.  P.:  America  and  the  New  Epoch, 
1916;  TICKNER,  F.  W. :  A  Social  and  Industrial  History  of  England, 
Chs.  35,  36;  VAN  HISE,  C.  R. :  Concentration  and  Control,  Ch.  I; 
VEBLEN,  T. :  The  Theory  of  Business  Enterprise,  1915 ;  WALLAS,  G. : 
The  Great  Society,  1914. 


CHAPTER  V 
OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

§  i.   WHAT  is  AMERICANISM? 

THE  breakdown  of  ethical  traditions  sketched  in  preceding 
chapters  has  given  rise  to  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  nature  of  our  ultimate  loyalties.  Measures  of 
values  in  morals,  ancient  religious  beliefs,  standards  of  busi- 
ness ethics  long  accepted  without  question,  national  policies 
considered  as  inviolate  as  the  "  faith  once  delivered  to  the 
saints  ",  are  now  being  challenged,  in  some  cases  actually 
repudiated.  As  a  nation  we  have  become  socially  self-con- 
scious to  a  painful  degree.  This  has  resulted  in  an  embar- 
rassing sense  of  moral  and  spiritual  decentralization.  Bernard 
Shaw's  bon  mot,  "  a  nation  of  villagers  ",  which  at  first  merely 
amused,  is  now  felt  to  carry  the  sting  of  reality.  We  are  be- 
ginning to  wonder  whether  the  publicist's  phrase  "  a  nation  of 
uncritical  drifters  "  and  the  sober  scholar's  characterization  of 
our  ethical  stock  in  trade  as  "  a  heterogeneous  collection  of 
provincial  moralities  "  do  not  contain  a  large  measure  of  truth. 

Recently  an  attempt  was  made  by  the  editor  of  a  scientific 
journal  to  secure  a  satisfactory  reply  to  the  question,  "  What 
is  Americanism?  " *  Representative  Americans  in  every  call- 
ing in  life  were  selected  and  the  query  was  submitted  to  them: 
"  Upon  what  ideals,  policies,  programs,  or  specific  purposes 
should  Americans  place  most  stress  in  the  immediate  future?  " 
The  replies  show  the  widest  variety,  not  to  say  contrariety,  of 
opinion.  The  panaceas  suggested  included  socialism,  equal 
opportunity  in  business,  happiness,  prolongation  of  human 
life,  application  of  the  methods  of  physical  science  to  human 
nature,  liberty  mental  and  physical,  the  restoring  of  the  bal- 
ance between  social  forces,  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  exact  facts 

1  Small,  The  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  20,  pp.  433  ff.,  613  ff. 

82 


WHAT  IS  AMERICANISM?  83 

in  the  different  departments  of  life  where  facts  count,  further 
development  of  individualism,  industrial  and  social  democ- 
racy, equality  of  opportunity,  abolition  of  the  color  line,  the 
maximum  well-being  of  all  the  people,  eugenics,  the  single  tax, 
internationalism,  charity. 

No  more  impressive  array  of  data  could  be  assembled  to 
show  the  widespread  uncertainty,  even  among  educated  Ameri- 
can leaders,  as  to  the  ultimate  values  that  underlie  American 
democracy.  The  editor's  comment  upon  these  data  is  sug- 
gestive. "  The  exhibit  reflects  the  fact  that  if  there  be  such 
a  thing  as  Americanism  it  is  not  composed  into  a  widely  ac- 
cepted code.  It  is  articulate  only  in  the  case  of  scattered  in- 
dividuals. We  have  opinions,  but  what  is  our  opinion?  We 
have  purposes,  but  what  is  our  purpose?  We  have  policies,  but 
what  is  our  policy?  We  have  standards,  but  what  is  our 
standard?  We  have  ambitions,  but  what  is  our  ambition? 
We  have  ideals,  but  what  is  our  ideal?  Those  of  us  who  know 
what  our  individual  opinions,  purposes,  policies,  standards, 
ambitions,  and  ideals  are,  mostly  think  we  are  too  busy  to 
compare  them  with  others,  and  to  find  out  whether  it  is  right 
or  practicable  for  them  to  become  the  guides  of  Americans 
in  general." 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  whatever  mature  and  intensive  thought 
there  is  in  American  society  is  concerned  for  the  most  part 
with  isolated  problems  or  with  groups  and  movements.  There 
is  little  attempt  on  the  part  of  leaders  to  correlate  the  interests 
they  represent  with  those  of  the  nation  at  large.  One  man  sees 
the  entire  social  problem  in  the  light  of  the  "  color  line," 
another  in  terms  of  social  injustice  towards  the  worker,  another 
in  terms  of  a  religious  attitude,  and  still  another  in  terms  of 
the  problems  presented  by  eugenics.  Everywhere  we  find  more 
or  less  isolated  centers  of  thought,  intensive  investigations  of 
problems  but  little  or  no  effort  to  coordinate  those  problems 
with  the  thought  and  experience  of  the  nation  as  a  whole. 

It  would  seem,  furthermore,  that  these  interests  which  con- 
cern men  are  economic,  racial,  biological,  religious,  scientific, 
but  not  primarily  moral  in  the  highest  sense.  The  essence  of 


84  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

the  moral  is  its  wholeness,  its  social  character.  One  cannot 
think  in  ethical  terms  without  correlating  his  thought  with  the 
problems  of  the  community  or  the  nation.  For  in  its  last 
analysis  morality  has  to  do  with  matters  that  make  for  social 
sanity.  Ethical  values  are  those  which  are  fundamental  for 
the  solution  of  the  social  problem,  the  essence  of  which  is  how 
to  enable  men  and  women  to  live  together  with  the  least  amount 
of  friction  and  the  best  safeguarding  of  human  values.  If  it 
be  contended  that  we  are  moral  in  the  larger  sense  only  when 
we  orient  our  immediate  circle  of  interests  in  terms  of  their 
bearing  upon  the  comprehensive  social  interests,  it  can  hardly 
be  said  that  American  society  is  moral  at  all.  It  possesses  a 
morality,  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  haphazard,  local,  piecemeal.  It 
is  the  morality  that  embraces  those  norms  which  must  be  ob- 
served if  the  business  man  is  to  get  along  peacefully  and  suc- 
cessfully with  his  business  associate.  It  is  the  morality  that  is 
necessary  for  the  minister  to  observe  if  he  is  to  enjoy  the  sym- 
pathy and  confidence  of  his  sect.  It  is  the  morality  the  mem- 
ber of  the  labor  union  finds  essential  to  the  welfare  of  his 
group.  It  is  the  morality  which  the  political  party  insists  each 
shall  observe  if  he  plays  the  political  game.  We  have  the 
morality  of  "  big  business  ",  the  morality  of  butcher,  baker, 
and  candlestickmaker;  we  have  the  morality  of  the  scientist, 
the  educator,  the  Jew,  the  Catholic,  and  the  Protestant.  But 
there  is  at  present  an  absence  of  comprehensive  authoritative 
norms,  acknowledged  by  all  classes  and  set  up  as  the  common 
goal  of  a  common  citizenship  in  a  great  democracy.  In  a 
word,  we  do  not  have  as  yet  a  fully  self-conscious  democracy. 
To  these  animadversions  it  may  be  replied,  of  course,  that 
there  are,  running  through  these  various  groups,  certain  great 
ethical  conceptions  such  as  justice,  fidelity  to  contract,  truth- 
fulness, honor  and  the  like  or  perhaps  the  great  norms  of  the 
democratic  conscience,  liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity.  These, 
it  may  be  said,  rather  than  the  individual's  particular  social 
theory  or  the  ideals  of  his  group,  are  what  hold  society  to- 
gether. The  reply  to  this  is  that  justice  or  liberty  are  mere 
abstractions  except  in  so  far  as  they  become  concreted  in  a 


CONFLICT  OF  INDIVIDUALISM  AND  COLLECTIVISM      85 

social  program  or  are  able  to  make  use  of  social  instrumen- 
talities. Even  the  bitterest  opponents  have  little  trouble  in 
agreeing  upon  a  definition  of  justice  in  the  abstract.  The  rub 
comes  when  they  try  to  unite  upon  a  social  policy  or  seek  to 
enact  laws  that  will  embody  the  principle  of  justice.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  any  great  ethical  or  political  norm  can  ever 
claim  reality  apart  from  the  immediate  social  instrumentalities 
through  which  masses  of  men  are  enabled  to  make  it  part  of 
their  thought  and  life.  Ideals,  to  be  sure,  are  always  concrete 
realities  in  that  they  are  the  organizations  of  the  ideas  and 
sentiments  of  definite  individuals.  But  even  these  individual 
subjective  attitudes  must  become  more  or  less  institutionalized 
before  they  can  ever  become  socially  effective. 

§  2.   CONFLICT  OF  INDIVIDUALISM  AND  COLLECTIVISM 

Much  of  the  confusion  that  reigns  in  the  social  mind  of 
America  at  present  is  due  to  the  conflict  between  two  ten- 
dencies which  we  may  call  individualism  and  collectivism. 
Collectivism  is  opposed  to  individualism  in  the  traditional  sense 
in  that  it  places  the  rights  and  interests  of  the  many  above 
those  of  the  individual  when  they  conflict  and  yet  without 
seeking  to  destroy  individual  initiative.  Collectivism  seeks 
to  control  and  to  supplement  individual  activities  in  the 
individual's  own  interest  as  well  as  in  that  of  society.  Collec- 
tivism, therefore,  is  to  be  distinguished  from  socialism  which 
tends  to  subordinate  the  individual  by  placing  the  instruments 
of  production  in  the  hands  of  the  state,  and  by  eliminating 
competition  and  private  property. 

During  the  last  few  decades  collectivism  has  gained  the 
upper  hand  over  traditional  individualism.  In  a  classical 
passage,  written  in  1881,  Lord  Morley  thus  describes  the 
growth  of  collectivism  in  England.  "  We  have  to-day  a  com- 
plete, minute,  and  voluminous  code  for  the  protection  of  labor; 
buildings  must  be  kept  pure  of  effluvia;  dangerous  machinery 
must  be  fenced;  children  and  young  persons  must  not  clean  it 
while  in  motion;  their  hours  are  not  only  limited  but  fixed; 
continuous  employment  must  not  exceed  a  given  number  of 


86  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

hours,  varying  with  the  trade,  but  prescribed  by  the  law  in 
given  cases;  a  statutable  number  of  holidays  is  imposed;  the 
children  must  go  to  school  and  the  employer  must  every  week 
give  a  certificate  to  that  effect;  if  an  accident  happens  notice 
must  be  sent  to  the  proper  authorities;  special  provisions  are 
made  for  bake  houses,  for  lace-making,  for  collieries,  and  for  a 
whole  schedule  of  other  special  callings;  for  the  due  enforce- 
ment and  vigilant  supervision  of  this  immense  host  of  minute 
prescriptions  there  is  an  immense  host  of  inspectors,  certifying 
surgeons,  and  other  authorities,  whose  business  it  is  '  to  speed 
and  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  '  in  restless  guardianship  of  every 
kind  of  labor,  from  that  of  the  woman  who  plaits  straw  at  her 
cottage  door,  to  the  miner  who  descends  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  and  the  seaman  who  conveys  the  fruits  and  materials 
of  universal  industry  to  and  fro  between  the  remotest  parts 
of  the  globe." 

Three  decades  later  ex-President  Eliot  wrote  of  the  spread 
of  collectivism  in  America,  "  Many  persons  are  still  living  who 
remember  Boston  when  it  had  no  sewers,  no  public  water 
supply,  no  gas,  no  electricity,  no  street-railways,  and  no  smooth 
pavements:  Albany  when  pigs  roamed  the  streets,  the  only 
scavengers;  Baltimore  when  each  householder  emptied  the 
refuse  from  his  house  into  the  gutter  in  front  of  his  door, 
and  the  streets  were  cleaned  only  by  animal  scavengers  and 
occasional  rains.  Seventy  years  ago  Massachusetts,  as  a  state, 
provided  no  hospitals  for  its  sick,  wounded,  or  insane;  issued 
no  acts  of  incorporation  with  limited  liability,  built  no  docks, 
improved  no  harbors,  regulated  neither  steam  nor  electric  rail- 
ways, exercised  no  control  over  the  issue  of  shares  or  bonds  of 
incorporated  companies,  built  no  highways,  and  appointed  no 
commissions  to  construct  systems  of  sewerage,  water  supplies 
or  parks — in  short  performed  none  of  the  functions  which 
to-day  engage  most  of  the  attention  of  its  legislature  and  its 
officials." 

The  psychological  effect  of  this  striking  mutualization  of 
the  social  order  characteristic  of  the  last  few  decades  is  most 
important  for  our  understanding  of  the  prevailing  uncertainty 


87 

in  our  moral  ideals.  The  pressure  of  a  social  order  in  which 
men  have  become  so  interdependent  tends  to  elevate  the 
wisdom  of  the  collective  mind  above  that  of  the  individual. 
"  The  sentiment  or  conviction,"  says  Dicey,  "  is  entertained  by 
every  collectivist,  that  an  individual  does  not  know  his  own 
interest,  and  certainly  does  not  know  the  interest  of  the  class 
to  which  he  belongs,  as  well  as  does  the  trade-union,  or  ulti- 
mately the  state  of  which  he  is  a  member  ".  This  tendency  to 
place  in  the  verdict  of  the  group  the  ultimate  source  of  moral 
authority  is  of  course  directly  antagonistic  to  the  traditional 
individualism  which  made  the  verdict  of  the  personal  con- 
science supreme.  There  is  a  complete  shift  of  the  moral  em- 
phasis. For  the  individual  is  now  surrounded  by  a  network 
of  laws  and  regulations  that  remind  him  at  every  turn  of  his 
membership  in  a  community  with  infinite  ramifications,  that 
his  every  act  affects  his  fellows  no  matter  how  remote  their 
lives  from  his,  that  the  efficiency  and  honesty  of  his  work  are 
matters  not  of  himself  and  his  employer  but  of  the  entire 
commonwealth  of  which  he  is  a  member,  that,  in  fine,  it  is 
now  true  as  never  before  in  the  history  of  the  world  "  no 
man  liveth  unto  himself  ". 

In  such  a  situation  the  traditional  militant  ethic  of  the 
pioneer  and  of  triumphant  individualism  is  worse  than  useless, 
It  becomes  in  many  cases  a  genuine  hindrance  to  the  successful 
solution  of  great  ethical  issues.  These  more  or  less  outworn 
individualistic  traditions  persist,  however.  They  provide  us 
with  the  only  organized  and  authoritative  social  norms  that 
the  community  knows.  They  keep  the  machinery  of  the  social 
order  going,  though  with  much  creaking  and  groaning.  The 
lack  of  teamwork  is  unmistakably  in  evidence.  There  is  a 
dearth  of  universal  sanctions  to  which  the  conflicting  groups 
and  interests  may  appeal  in  the  effort  to  adjust  their  differ- 
ences. Classes  and  groups  have  their  own  standards  of 
"  right "  and  "  wrong  ".  We  have  group  ethics  and  class 
standards  galore  but  few  comprehensive  norms  that  all  are 
willing  to  acknowledge. 

Contrast,   for  example,   the  standards   of  the  industrial 


88  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

group  with  those  of  the  business  group.  The  latter  is 
inclined  to  emphasize  the  inviolability  of  contract,  the  sacro- 
sanct character  of  private  property,  and  the  finality  and  uni- 
versality of  the  pecuniary  standard  of  values.  The  workers 
tend  to  view  property  as  a  more  or  less  fluid  entity  belonging  to 
society  as  a  whole  and  they  subordinate  pecuniary  to  human 
values.  The  business  man  emphasizes  competition  as  the  life 
of  trade;  the  worker  minimizes  competition  as  the  enemy  of 
group  welfare.  The  business  man  stresses  individual  liberty 
and  personal  initiative;  the  worker  subordinates  individual 
activities  to  those  of  the  group.  The  business  group  finds  the 
incentive  to  action  in  profitism;  for  the  worker  profitism  is 
only  of  interest  as  it  serves  to  elevate  the  standard  of  living  for 
the  group.  The  average  business  man  is  actuated  by  the 
conventional  conception  of  patriotism  which  says  "  my  country 
whether  right  or  wrong  ";  organized  labor  is  often  inclined  to 
place  international  above  national  interests,  at  least -in  theory, 
and  where  labor  is  oppressed  the  tendency  is  to  repudiate 
patriotism  as  a  selfish  class  motive.  The  difficulty  of  finding 
common  ethical  ground  upon  which  these  two  groups  may  meet 
is  obvious.  Owing  to  the  impact  of  widely  divergent  interests 
and  traditions  the  emotions  and  sentiments  of  these  groups 
and  hence  their  standards  of  moral  judgment,  have  little  in 
common;  in  many  respects  they  are  fundamentally  antagonistic 
on  the  great  issues  of  modern  life.  The  one  group  has  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  gaining  even  an  intellectual  appreciation 
of  the  philosophy  of  the  opposing  group,  so  great  is  the  edu- 
cative effect  of  the  stresses  and  strains  of  group  economy. 

When  the  inevitable  clash  between  these  various  conflict- 
ing interests  comes,  what  attitude  does  American  society 
assume  toward  the  problem?  For  the  most  part  we  fall 
back  upon  the  typically  American  habit  of  mechanical,  hap- 
hazard, and  largely  irrational  ways  of  effecting  adjustment  of 
the  issues  concerned.  In  other  words  we  become  (morally) 
"  uncritical  drifters ".  Organized  labor  strikes,  that  is,  it 
repudiates  reason  and  law  in  favor  of  force.  The  employer 
meets  force  with  force  and  pickets  his  works  or  telegraphs  for 


THE  DUALISM  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE  89 

the  state  police.  The  community  looks  on  in  pathetic  moral 
impotence  while  property  is  destroyed,  community  welfare 
sacrificed,  and  often  lives  lost.  There  is  lacking  any  higher 
ethical  tribunal,  the  mandates  of  which  can  be  made  binding 
upon  both  groups.  The  prevailing  traditional  individualistic 
ethic  finds  itself  utterly  incompetent  to  deal  with  the  situation. 
A  collectivistic  regime  demands  a  complete  reorganization  of 
the  social  conscience. 

§  3.   THE  DUALISM  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE 

In  reality,  however,  the  causes  of  our  uncertain  morality  are 
deeper  than  the  confusion  due  to  the  conflict  between  indi- 
vidualism and  collectivism.  They  can  be  traced  back  to  a 
dualism  that  has  existed  in  American  life  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. "  In  the  higher  things  of  the  mind,"  writes  Santayana, 
"  in  religion,  in  literature,  in  the  moral  emotions,  it  is  the 
hereditary  spirit  that  still  prevails,  so  much  so  that  Mr.  Ber- 
nard Shaw  finds  that  America  is  one  hundred  years  behind 
the  times.  The  truth  is  that  one-half  of  the  American  mind, 
that  not  occupied  intensely  in  practical  affairs,  has  remained, 
I  will  not  say  high  and  dry,  but  slightly  becalmed;  it  has 
floated  gently  in  the  back-water,  while,  alongside,  in  invention 
and  industry,  and  social  organization,  the  other  half  of  the 
mind  has  leaped  down  a  sort  of  Niagara  Rapids  ".  Here, 
ultimately,  in  this  gap  between  the  genteel  tradition  that  has 
prevailed  in  politics,  religion,  art,  and  philosophy  and  the 
pragmatic  and  utilitarian  ideals  of  actual  life,  we  must  find 
the  explanation  of  the  singular  impotence  at  the  higher  levels 
of  the  intellectual  life  of  America. 

Primary  among  the  factors  that  have  produced  this  dual- 
ism in  American  life  were  the  actual  conditions  faced  by  the 
founders  of  the  nation.  The  early  fathers  were  pioneers. 
They  undertook  the  herculean  task  of  creating  a  civilization 
in  the  wilderness.  They  did  not  possess  nor  did  they  have 
time  to  create  their  own  political  or  social  institutions.  They 
had  no  indigenous  social  heritage  of  religion,  literature 
and  customs  necessary  to  the  establishment  and  maintenance 


90  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

of  a  civilization.  It  was  inevitable  that  they  should  appro- 
priate these  for  the  most  part  ready-made  from  the  mother 
country.  But  the  bills  of  rights,  the  Declaration  and  the 
Federal  Constitution  which  were  thought  to  embody  the  last 
word  of  political  wisdom,  were  in  reality  the  outgrowth  of 
the  advanced  political  experience  of  the  England  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  By  making  these  documents  final  the 
American  people  gave  hostages  to  fortune  so  far  as  the  de- 
velopment of  a  political  conscience,  intimately  related  with 
the  expanding  life  of  the  nation,  was  concerned. 

Thus  was  laid  the  basis  for  an  unfortunate  dualism  in  the 
political  loyalties  of  the  American  people.  It  was  the  dualism 
that  was  destined  to  arise  in  time  between  the  fixed,  law-made 
democracy  of  the  Constitution  and  the  practical  democratic 
ideals  that  were  developed  in  immediate  contact  with  the 
problems  of  the  national  life.  The  lofty  ideals  of  the  Con- 
stitution have  remained  fixed  while  the  industrial,  political, 
and  social  factors  entering  into  our  civilization  were  con- 
stantly changing.  The  result  is  that  theoretically  we  are 
idealists  while  in  practice  we  are  pragmatists  or  even  mate- 
rialists. By  tradition  and  training  we  place  in  the  foreground 
certain  ultimate  conceptions  as  to  the  meaning  and  values  of 
life,  such  as  equality,  freedom,  peace,  and  universal  brother- 
hood. It  is  only  when  forced  to  make  supreme  moral  deci- 
sion, however,  as  in  the  case  of  the  recent  war,  that  these 
lofty  principles  actually  emerge  and  play  a  part  in  our  thought 
and  life.  The  principles  that  actually  shape  business  and 
politics  and  even  social  relations  have  been  anything  but  ideal- 
istic. Two  souls,  it  would  seem,  dwell  in  the  breast  of  the 
average  American,  that  of  the  idealist  and  that  of  the  mate- 
rialist. When  the  tide  of  life  runs  smoothly  and  the  stern 
necessity  for  criticism  and  analysis  does  not  press  upon  us,  the 
average  American  is  apt  to  be  thoughtless  and  adventurous,  a 
materialist  in  business,  a  Philistine  in  culture  and  a  prig  in 
religion  and  morals.  It  is  only  at  great  critical  moments  when 
he  is  forced  to  pass  through  some  national  Gethsemane,  as  in 
the  battle  against  slavery  or  in  the  recent  struggle  against 


THE  DUALISM  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE  91 

the  gospel  of  force  and  frightfulness,  that  he  seriously  be- 
thinks himself  of  his  spiritual  birthright. 

As  the  gap  widened  between  this  fixed  world  of  religio- 
political  values  and  the  actual  social  situation  it  was  in- 
evitable that  there  should  arise  a  feeling  of  unreality,  even  of 
insincerity,  in  the  conscience  of  the  nation.  This  has  been 
accentuated  of  recent  years  through  the  tremendous  expansion 
of  the  industrial  order  and  the  rise  of  a  social  and  economic 
structure  never  dreamed  of  by  the  men  who  formulated  the 
political  philosophy  of  the  nation.  Even  before  the  outbreak 
of  the  war  President  Wilson  was  able  to  say,  "  This  is  nothing 
short  of  a  new  social  age,  a  new  era  of  human  relationships, 
a  new  stage  setting  for  the  drama  of  life  ".  But  even  in  the 
utterances  of  this  clear-sighted  and  forward-looking  leader 
we  seem  to  have  indications  that  he  had  not  completely 
emancipated  his  thought  from  the  inherent  dualism  of  the 
American  mind.  We  still  seem  to  catch  an  echo  of  the  old 
simple  individualistic  life  of  the  small  farmer,  or  the  small 
shopkeeper,  of  unrestricted  competition  with  its  transcendental 
background  of  unalterable  and  inalienable  rights.  It  has  been 
remarked  of  the  Mr.  Wilson  of  1913  that  his  ideal  "  is  the 
old  ideal,  the  ideal  of  Bryan,  the  method  is  the  new  one  of 
government  interference ".  The  problem  of  introducing 
homogeneity  into  our  scale  of  values,  made  urgent  through 
the  rise  of  a  new  industrial  order,  has  been  accentuated  of 
course  a  thousandfold  through  the  great  international  catas- 
trophe. Had  the  American  people  been  schooled  from  the 
beginning  to  formulate  their  political  ideals  in  close  and  vital 
contact  with  developing  political  experience,  as  is  true  of  the 
English,  had  they  been  taught  to  give  rational  interpretation 
to  the  constantly  accumulating  mass  of  national  experience 
instead  of  relying  confidently  upon  the  political  faith  "  which 
was  once  for  all  delivered  unto  the  saints  ",  we  should  not 
now  be  so  helpless  when  faced  with  new  and  untried  issues. 

Disrespect  for  law  is  a  much  more  serious  consequence 
of  this  dualism.  The  average  American  has  been  schooled 
to  believe  in  the  majesty,  the  authority  and  the  indefecti- 


92  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

ble  character  of  the  principles  of  right  embodied  in  his 
political  symbols.  He  is,  therefore,  at  once  freed  from  any 
pressing  sense  of  responsibility  for  their  preservation.  He 
holds  them  in  the  highest  esteem  and  admiration,  listens  with 
all  possible  respect  to  the  judicial  interpretation  of  their 
subtle  and  hidden  meanings.  In  actual  life,  in  business  or 
politics,  however,  he  does  not  hesitate  to  take  a  "  moral 
holiday  ",  like  a  boy  out  of  school,  under  the  firm  conviction 
that  the  eternal  principles  of  the  Constitution  will  keep  watch 
and  ward  over  the  destiny  of  the  republic. 

The  average  American  has  thus  come  to  view  the  law  in 
two  senses.  On  the  one  hand,  we  have  the  indefectible  prin- 
ciples of  righteousness  and  justice  embalmed  in  the  highest 
law  of  the  land  and  expounded  with  august  dignity  and  learn- 
ing by  the  Supreme  Court.  On  the  other,  we  have  the  ordi- 
nary laws  of  the  city  and  community  hi  which  one  lives.  The 
average  American  is  intensely  loyal  to  the  lofty  legal  abstrac- 
tions of  the  Constitution  but  too  often  the  laws  that  hedge 
him  about  hi  actual  life  are  viewed  with  distrust  and  even 
hostility.  It  is  part  of  the  game  to  circumvent  them  if  pos- 
sible. He  does  not  associate  with  them  much  of  his  sense  of 
loyalty  to  the  beautiful  abstractions  of  natural  rights,  freedom 
and  equality. 

Unfortunately,  however,  this  immediate  world  of  work 
and  play,  where  rules  exist  but  to  be  evaded,  inevitably  wins 
out  in  any  prolonged  contest  with  a  world  of  eternal  laws 
whether  political  or  religious.  For  the  world  of  fact  is  with 
us  early  and  late.  The  constant  impact  of  its  petty  details, 
its  habits  of  action,  is  ever  being  recorded  in  human  character 
and  shapes  the  social  conscience.  The  result  is  that  a  moral 
sense  oriented  in  terms  of  ideals  "  too  pure  and  good  for 
human  nature's  daily  food  "  soon  loses  its  virility.  We  have 
thus  a  curious  parallel  between  the  decay  of  Calvinistic 
theology  and  the  gradual  discrediting  of  the  doctrine  of 
natural  rights  underlying  the  highest  law  of  the  land. 

The  unfortunate  thing  about  this  national  double-minded- 
ness  is  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the  long  years  when  the 


THE  DUALISM  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE  93 

masses  of  Americans,  particularly  in  business,  have  devoted 
all  their  energies  to  the  lower  and  materialistic  things  of  life. 
The  leaders  of  industry  cannot  live  as  though  profitism  were 
the  supreme  measure  of  values  without  in  time  building  up 
habits  of  thought  in  themselves  and  in  the  community  that 
are  materialistic.  Our  present  moral  uncertainty  is  largely 
the  result  of  our  failure  to  make  real  in  actual  life  the 
noble  spiritual  traditions  we  have  inherited  from  our  fathers. 
It  is  always  increasingly  difficult  as  the  social  process 
becomes  more  complex  to  keep  clearly  in  mind  our  ulti- 
mate loyalties.  The  immediate  problem  of  mastering  the 
means,  of  perfecting  the  instruments  for  the  attainment  of 
the  distant  goal  tends  to  monopolize  our  thought  and  effort. 
We  become  so  enamored  of  the  excitement  and  the  exhilira- 
tion  of  the  chase  that  we  forget  to  ask  whether  the  quarry  is 
worth  our  pains.  The  business  of  merely  living  becomes  more 
important  than  the  ultimate  end  of  life  itself.  We  become  so 
fascinated  with  the  din  and  clatter  of  the  machinery  that  we 
adopt  its  fiendish  energy  and  mechanical  determinateness  as 
our  measures  of  value.  Gross  output  becomes  more  impor- 
tant in  our  eyes  than  richness  and  sweetness  of  human  life. 
We  forget,  what  the  war  has  taught  us  with  terrible  emphasis, 
that  the  machine  can  do  the  bidding  of  the  devil  just  as  effec- 
tively and  as  impartially  as  it  works  the  righteousness  of  God. 
Most  insidious  and  dangerous  is  the  effect  of  this  prevail- 
ing impotence  of  higher  moral  sanctions  in  its  educative 
effects  upon  the  community.  The  frequent  failure  of  the  re- 
former or  of  the  instruments  of  law  and  order  to  cope  effec- 
tively with  social  evils  inevitably  leads  the  average  unreflective 
individual  to  look  upon  acts  of  violence,  corruption,  malad- 
ministration or  what  not  as  part  of  the  tare  and  tret  of  the 
social  process.  The  conscience  of  the  average  man  is  shaped 
by  social  experience  until  he  becomes,  though  all  unwittingly, 
an  advocatus  diaboli.  It  is  a  very  easy  transition  from  the 
habit  of  mind,  for  example,  which  is  schooled  to  associate 
forms  of  vice  with  the  massing  of  men  in  great  cities  to  the 
attitude  of  mind  which  finds  a  necessary  causal  relation  be- 


94  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

tween  these  forms  of  vice  and  the  intense  commercial  activity 
of  our  urban  centers.  Hence  we  have  the  oft  repeated  assertion 
that  the  "  wide-open  "  town  has  a  distinct  economic  advantage 
over  the  town  with  the  "  lid  on  ".  The  political  conscience 
of  a  community  that  has  long  suffered  the  demoralizing  effect 
of  being  represented  by  corrupt  political  leaders  has  little 
difficulty  in  persuading  itself  that  their  corrupt  methods  are 
the  price  that  must  be  paid  to  secure  legislation  that  will  in- 
sure business  prosperity.  The  public  sentiment  may  indeed 
so  far  lose  its  sensitiveness  as  to  discount  corrupt  and  ques- 
tionable methods  on  the  part  of  leaders  because  of  their 
efficiency  in  the  political  game  or  their  ability  as  statesmen. 
Perhaps  the  strangest  attempt  of  a  social  conscience,  dulled 
by  the  bankruptcy  of  higher  moral  sanctions,  to  justify  cor- 
ruption is  found  in  the  argument  that  corruption  is  but  a 
clever  and  necessary  instrument  through  which  democracy 
seeks  to  defend  itself  against  the  wild  and  untamed  passions 
of  ochlochracy.  It  is  argued  that  the  undemocratic  capital- 
istic class  has  effectually  alienated  the  proletariat  and  that 
without  some  mediating  instrument  the  structure  of  our  democ- 
racy would  be  disrupted  through  bitter  class  conflicts.  The 
political  boss  with  his  machine  steps  boldly  into  the  gap  and 
by  clever  pandering  to  the  demands  of  the  unhappy  and  sub- 
versive proletariat  prevents  revolution  and  preserves  at  least 
the  outward  semblance  of  democracy.  Thus  corruption  and 
graft  are  justified  very  much  in  the  same  way  that  panem 
et  circenses  were  justified  under  imperial  Rome.  It  need 
hardly  be  observed  that  such  a  justification  of  the  ethics  of  the 
political  boss  is  a  cheap  and  unwarranted  slander  upon  the 
character  of  a  free  people. 

§  4.   FACT  AND  IDEAL 

The  most  fundamental  form  of  this  dualism  which  we 
find  running  through  American  life  is  that  between  fact  and 
idea,  or  between  the  immediate  concrete  situation  in  business 
and  politics  and  the  ideal.  This  dualism  appears  in  count- 
less forms.  We  see  it  in  the  contrast  between  the  political 


FACT  AND  IDEAL  95 

idealist  and  the  "  practical  "  politician.  It  emerges  in  educa- 
tion in  the  contest  between  the  champions  of  culture  and  the 
humanities  and  those  who  like  Gradgrind  will  have  only 
"  facts  "  and  a  technical  equipment  for  a  definite  work  in 
the  social  order.  It  is  played  upon  with  great  skill  by  the 
popular  evangelist  who  alludes  to  the  scholar  or  the  theologian 
as  "  an  intellectual  feather  duster  "  and  insists  upon  a  religion 
of  immediate  emotional  experiences  and  practical  activities. 
It  registers  itself  in  the  social  reformer  who  resolutely  turns 
his  back  upon  the  social  theorist  and  muckrakes  business  or 
politics  with  the  confident  belief  that  the  ultimate  remedy  of 
social  evils  is  to  "  get  the  facts  before  the  people  ".  It  is 
seen  in  the  realm  of  literature  in  the  willingness  of  the  writer 
of  the  "  best  seller  "  to  violate  his  artistic  conscience  and  to 
debase  his  literary  ideal  in  the  zeal  for  a  vivid  and  realistic 
portrayal  of  life. 

The  ideal  first  won  articulate  formulation  in  American 
life.  The  American  nation  was  in  the  beginning  little  more 
than  an  ideal,  a  pious  hope.  Our  great  national  confession  of 
faith  was  really  but  "  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen  ".  In  the  beginning  the  reality  of 
national  life  was  largely  exhausted  in  this  eloquent  and  enthusi- 
astic declaration  of  political  faith.  The  ideal  and  final  char- 
acter of  this  early  formulation  of  political  faith  has  given  to 
Americanism  a  mystical,  intangible  atmosphere  that  enables  it 
to  defy  time  and  space.  American  patriotism  is  not  provincial 
or  local  like  that  of  the  average  European.  But  for  this  very 
reason  the  national  ideals  have  from  the  very  beginning  pos- 
sessed a  declaratory  and  an  abstract  character  that  has  tended 
to  divorce  them  from  practical  life.  It  was  unfortunate  that 
in  the  beginning  the  concrete  social  setting  was  largely  lack- 
ing by  means  of  which  those  who  had  professed  their  faith  in 
the  lofty  ideals  of  the  bills  of  rights  and  the  Constitution 
could  set  to  work  upon  the  process  of  making  these  ideals  real 
in  the  life  of  the  nation.  It  lent  an  air  of  unreality  to  all 
political  responsibilities.  Hence,  as  has  been  remarked, 
"  America,  in  spite  of  its  materialistic  phenomena,  is  as  doc- 


96  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

trinaire  as  can  be  imagined,  and  in  an  idealistic  way;  for  it 
insists  on  an  overpowering  emphasis  of  early  foundations  of 
the  national  meaning,  and  then  insists  on  these  principles  be- 
ing carried  out  with  a  symmetry  that  is  more  logical  than 
vital ". 

The  emphasis  upon  the  factual  emerged  later  in  the 
course  of  American  life.  It  developed  at  a  lower  level,  close 
to  the  pressing  daily  needs  of  men.  It  was  inevitable  that 
in  the  slow  and  arduous  process  of  building  up  the  material 
basis  of  a  civilization  Americans  should  be  schooled  to  lay 
emphasis  upon  the  facts.  No  nation  of  history  has  ever  un- 
folded its  life  in  such  close  contact  with  stupendous  natural 
phenomena.  The  material  problems  presented  by  virgin  for- 
ests, great  rivers,  vast  mountain  ranges  and  the  pathless  ex- 
panses of  untilled  prairies  are  without  any  parallel  in  history. 
These  physical  facts  faced  men  in  stubborn,  naked,  material- 
istic array,  unrelieved  by  the  glamor  of  history  or  myth,  un- 
softened  by  the  touch  of  the  poet  and  thus  devoid  of  the 
subtle  spiritual  symbolism  that  centuries  of  association  with 
civilized  man  lend  to  the  phenomena  of  nature  in  Europe  and 
in  the  Orient. 

Out  of  this  long  struggle  with  physical  facts  has  come 
the  American  worship  of  the  man  of  action  and  the  enthusiasm 
for  "  efficiency."  Whether  it  be  baseball,  politics,  education, 
or  religion  we  prefer  it  with  a  "  punch  ".  We  are  blindly 
idolatrous  of  the  men  who  "  do  things  ".  Later  perhaps  we 
shall  develop  the  critical  powers,  the  lack  of  which  at  present 
often  incapacitates  us  for  distinguishing  between  the  sheer, 
irrational,  and  wasteful  expenditure  of  energy  and  activity 
that  actually  enriches  and  furthers  human  life.  The  present 
widespread  acceptance  on  the  part  of  many  Americans  of 
the  supremacy  of  pecuniary  values  is  a  phase  of  this  zeal  for 
the  factual.  The  average  American  pays  homage  to  money 
not  because  of  any  intrinsic  merit  it  may  possess  but  be- 
cause it  is  one  of  the  most  obvious  and  generally  accepted 
indications  of  achievement;  it  is  the  seal  of  success  in  the 
long  struggle  with  the  material  and  the  factual.  In  so  far  as 


FACT  AND  IDEAL  97 

wealth,  honestly  gained,  indicates  mastery  in  this  materialistic 
sense  it  must  be  granted  that  the  popular  pecuniary  measure 
of  values  has  its  justification.  With  a  deeper  insight  into  the 
meaning  of  life  money  must  give  place  to  a  more  rational 
measure  of  values. 

There  is  no  more  striking  illustration  of  the  slow  encroach- 
ment of  the  factual  upon  the  realm  of  the  ideal  than  is  of- 
fered in  the  field  of  education.  The  zeal  for  facts  is  evinced 
in  the  rapid  growth  of  the  natural  sciences  and  later  in  the 
interest  in  economics  and  political  science.  In  some  of  the 
older  colleges  where  the  traditions  of  earlier  days  are  less  ex- 
posed to  the  disintegrating  effect  of  the  utilitarian  trend, 
humanism  holds  its  own.  But  even  here  the  time-honored 
humanistic  studies  have  been  forced  to  change  their  methods 
and  points  of  emphasis  so  as  to  stress  the  factual,  the  social 
and  the  utilitarian.  To  a  certain  extent  one  must  yield  to 
the  logic  of  the  factual.  For  it  may  be  seriously  doubted 
whether  any  of  the  higher  values  associated  with  education, 
or  with  any  other  phase  of  the  higher  life,  can  take  deep  and 
permanent  root  except  in  a  soil  thoroughly  prepared  by  the 
mastery  of  the  immediate,  the  factual  and  the  concrete.  The 
crudity  or  even  the  materialism  in  American  life,  so  often 
made  a  target  for  the  shafts  of  European  criticism,  is  a  neces- 
sary and  inevitable  stage  in  the  evolution  of  American  culture. 
Indeed  the  honest  courage  and  conscientious  thoroughness 
with  which  as  a  nation  we  have  faced  this  immediate  task  is  no 
small  earnest  of  the  possible  achievements  of  America  when 
once  her  whole-hearted  endeavor  is  directed  toward  the  reali- 
zation of  the  higher  values  of  life. 

Meanwhile  it  cannot  be  denied  that  preoccupation  with 
the  immediate  and  the  factual  has  to  a  very  large  extent  dis- 
counted the  ideal  as  a  dynamic  factor  in  American  life.  As  a 
nation  we  have  to  a  large  extent  accepted  the  dualism  between 
the  ideal  and  the  factual  present  in  the  beginnings  of  national 
life  as  part  of  the  eternal  order  cf  things.  We  have  not  yet 
felt  the  imperative  necessity  of  uniting  the  two.  This  has 
resulted  in  a  gradual  triumph  of  the  factual  for  the  simple 


98  OUR  UNCERTAIN  MORALITY 

reason  that  it  is  ever  with  us.  We  are  never  able  to  escape 
entirely  from  the  disciplinary  effects  of  the  brute  facts  as  they 
impinge  upon  us  from  every  angle  of  experience.  They  in- 
evitably shape  us  to  their  will  unless  we  are  able  to  surmount 
them  or  make  them  instruments  for  the  attainment  of  a  more 
abundant  life  through  the  ideal.  Perhaps  it  was  asking  too 
much  of  America  to  refine  and  spiritualize  the  crude  ore  as  she 
dug  it  from  the  mine.  But  it  remains  true,  nevertheless,  that 
without  some  such  process  of  refinement  we  shall  never  be 
able  to  distinguish  the  dross  from  the  gold.  The  day  is  al- 
ready far  spent  when  we  can  justify  our  neglect  of  the  duty 
critically  to  weigh  and  evaluate  on  the  ground  of  the  urgent 
call  of  the  practical.  The  gap  between  the  ideal  and  the 
actual  must  be  closed.  The  confusions  and  contradictions  in 
our  highest  ideals  must  be  remedied  in  the  interest  of  a  sane 
and  progressive  national  life. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books:  ADDAMS,  J. :  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  1902;  BROOKS, 
J.  G. :  The  Social  Unrest,  Ch.  Ill;  BROOKS,  V.  W. :  America's  Coming- 
of-Age,  1915;   ELIOT,  C. :   The  Conflict  Between  Individualism  and  Col- 
lectivism in  a  Democracy,  1910 ;  ELLWOOD,  C.  A. :   The  Social  Problem, 
Chs.  i,  2,  4,  5;  HADLEY,  A.  T. :  Relations  Between  Freedom  and  Respon- 
sibility in  the  Evolution  of  a  Demcoratic  Government,  1903 ;  HAWORTH, 
P.   L. :   America  in  Ferment,   1915;   LIPPMAN,   W. :   Drift  and  Mastery, 
1914;   Ross,   E.   A.:   Sin   and   Society,    1907;    Changing   America,    1912; 
SANTA  YANA,  GEORGE:   Winds  of  Doctrine,  1913;  WILSON,  WOODROW:  The 
New  Freedom,  1913. 

2.  Articles:    CAKLTON,    F.    T. :    "Is    America    Morally    Decadent?" 
International  Journal   of   Ethics,   Vol.    18,   pp.    492  ff. ;    SMALL,    A.    W. : 
"What  is  Americanism?"  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  20,  pp. 
433  8.  and  613  ff. 


PART   II 
PSYCHOLOGICAL 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

§  i.   THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  SOCIAL  SCIENCE 

NOWHERE  are  we  so  painfully  aware  of  the  limitations  of  ex- 
act scientific  method  as  in  the  study  of  social  phenomena.  To 
insist  upon  anything  approximating  the  exactness  of  natural 
science  is  to  make  of  truth  in  things  social  at  best  a  piecemeal 
affair,  a  collection  of  membra  disjecta.  To  fall  back  upon 
the  analogies  of  the  poet  or  the  insights  of  the  philosopher  is 
to  lose  touch  with  the  pluralistic  level  of  factual  detail.  Whole- 
ness and  reality  are  for  the  student  of  social  problems  largely 
overlapping  terms.  Every  sociologist  or  social  philosopher 
must  be  something  of  a  realist  in  the  scholastic  sense.  The  ens 
universalissimum  is  the  correlative  of  the  ens  realissimum. 
But  to  anaylze  and  explain  is  to  disintegrate.  Hence  in  the 
search  for  social  verities  we  are  constantly  in  danger  of  dis- 
sipating them,  of  making  them  intangible.  To  lose  the  whole 
point  of  view  is  to  sacrifice  part  of  the  reality,  for  we  are 
dealing  with  a  situation  in  which  the  bearing  of  the  whole 
upon  a  given  part  lends  to  the  part  both  its  meaning  and  its 
reality. 

The  social  scientist,  therefore,  is  particularly  apt  to  be  a 
worshipper  of  generalizations.  The  fascinating  and  infinitely 
complex  problems  he  faces  encourage  a  state  of  mind  in  which 
he  fails  to  distinguish  the  scientific  principle  legitimately  drawn 
from  the  facts  from  the  generalization  of  the  philosopher 
based  upon  insight.  He  often  moves  in  a  realm  of  half-lights 

99 


ioo     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

that  is  neither  science  nor  philosophy.  Here  is  the  basis  for 
the  accusation  often  leveled  at  sociology  that  it  is  a  pseudo- 
science  or  a  half-hearted  philosophy  or  both.  Old  philo- 
sophical terms  are,  to  be  sure,  taboo.  But  it  is  by  no  means 
unusual  to  find  a  sociologist,  after  having  properly  damned 
the  good  old-fashioned  metaphysician,  proceeding  to  give 
us  brilliant  philosophical  speculations  of  his  own.  The 
newness  of  the  subject,  its  intense  human  interest,  and  the 
apparent  concreteness  of  the  terms  used  serve  to  conceal  the 
essentially  speculative  character  of  his  thought.  By  elevating 
his  generalizations  to  the  dignity  of  proven  laws  of  society  he 
is  really  guilty  of  the  old,  old  fallacy  of  reifying  abstractions. 
Much  has  been  done  by  the  social  psychologist  to  place 
the  study  of  society  upon  a  scientific  basis.  Certainly  much 
of  the  futility  of  the  speculations  of  social  philosophers  both 
past  and  present  is  to  be  traced  to  their  ignorance  of  the  fun- 
damental psychological  facts  involved  in  the  social  situation. 
It  seems  best,  therefore,  to  preface  the  more  detailed  discus- 
sion of  the  social  conscience  with  a  psychological  analysis  of 
the  moral  sentiments.  We  must  keep  in  mind,  however,  the 
variety  of  the  facts  and  forces  concerned,  their  subtlety  and 
difficulty  of  control,  their  close  affiliations  with  the  instinctive 
and  habitual  phases  of  experience,  and  especially  their  social 
character.  We  shall  find  that  our  task  is  not  an  easy  one. 
The  classical  systems  of  traditional  metaphysics,  with  their 
academic  dignity,  their  remoteness  from  life  and  their  logical 
finality  are  comparatively  simple  compared  with  the  bewilder- 
ing complexity,  the  tragic  human  interest  and  the  sense  of 
unplumbed  depths  suggested  by  the  eternal  social  problem. 

§  2.   ORGANIZATION  FUNDAMENTAL  IN  CHARACTER 

Thanks  to  the  accumulated  facts  of  psychology,  sociology, 
and  anthropology,  we  have  been  made  aware  of  the  exceed- 
ingly complicated  structure  of  the  moral  experience  and  of  its 
more  or  less  adventitious  character.  We  now  know  that  the 
simplest  moral  sentiment  presupposes  a  long  process  of  organ- 
ization and  evolution  in  the  group  and  in  the  individual.  Or- 


ORGANIZATION  FUNDAMENTAL  IN  CHARACTER      101 

ganization  and  development  rather  than  intuition  or  revela- 
tion provide  us  with  the  key  to  the  moral  problem.  Impulse, 
instinct,  emotion,  sentiment,  ideal  are  not  separate  entities. 
They  are  functions  of  character,  forms,  and  phases  of  the 
activity  of  a  feeling,  reasoning,  and  willing  creature.  They 
emerge,  therefore,  only  as  organically  related  to  a  living  whole. 
Any  mechanical  or  purely  analytical  explanation  of  the  moral 
sentiments  and  their  constituent  elements  can  only  furnish  us 
with  a  set  of  empty  and  useless  abstractions.  We  cannot  re- 
duce character  to  a  set  of  ultimate  and  persistent  elements  like 
the  stones  in  a  mosaic  or  the  bricks  in  a  building. 

Character  is  in  fact  a  complexio  oppositorum.  Every  sys- 
tem of  sentiments  tends  to  develop  penchants  that  further 
that  system  and  these  penchants  often  persist  after  the  sys- 
tems of  sentiments  whiqh  created  them  have  disappeared. 
Hence  the  mature  character  presents  at  best  a  strange  melange 
of  tendencies,  habits,  bedraggled  and  half-forgotten  ideals. 
Courage  and  cowardice,  nobility  and  meanness,  sincerity  and 
deceit,  open-mindedness  and  constraint,  dwell  under  the  same 
roof-tree,  often  in  a  strange  and  apparently  unholy  concord. 
So  successful  is  life  in  imprinting  upon  the  human  heart  its 
own  inherent  contrarieties,  its  persistent  paradoxes.  The 
classical  moralists,  the  theologian  as  well  as  the  social  scient- 
ist, have  been  more  or  less  unaware  of  the  inherent  com- 
plexities of  human  nature  because  their  attention  has  been 
directed  to  the  logical  and  institutional  formulation  of  the 
moral  life  rather  than  to  the  process  by  which  this  formulation 
has  been  attained.  They  have  ignored,  therefore,  the  slow 
and  painful  evolution  whereby,  partly  through  reason  and 
partly  through  wasteful  trial  and  error,  men  have  succeeded 
in  organizing  their  moral  experiences.  In  our  study  of  the 
moral  sentiments  it  seems  fitting,  therefore,  that  we  should 
begin  with  the  principle  of  organization. 

Organization  is  perhaps  the  most  inveterate  and  outstand- 
ing characteristic  of  all  living  things.  To  be  sure,  we  may 
predicate  organization  in  a  sense  of  inanimate  nature  but  it 
is  mechanical,  disinterested,  inert.  The  organizations  and  dis- 


102     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

integrations  that  are  constantly  taking  place  in  the  entire  sweep 
of  the  mechanical  cosmos,  from  a  dewdrop  to  a  solar  system, 
are  apparently  indifferent  to  the  question  of  possible  loss  or 
gain  of  moral  values.  Only  in  the  imagination  of  the  poet  or  the 
mystic  do  the  winds  of  the  night  or  the  stars  in  their  courses 
groan  and  travail  together  with  man  in  his  moral  and  spiritual 
struggles.  The  unmorality  of  nature  is  apparently  vast,  un- 
equivocal, inarticulate,  absolute.  Organization  among  living 
things,  however,  differs  fundamentally  from  the  mechanical 
organization  of  nature.  For  the  living  thing  is  interested  in 
its  own  self-preservation,  in  the  continuity  of  its  existence,  in 
the  satisfaction  of  its  interests.  With  the  emergence  of  life 
value  comes  to  have  meaning  and  reality  in  the  world.  The 
indifference  of  inanimate  nature  disappears.  Existence  be- 
comes vastly  more  interesting,  more  dramatic,  because  of  the 
presence  of  things  that  can  suffer  and  enjoy. 

Organization  is  presupposed  at  the  very  beginning  of 
mental  evolution.  "  Indeed  we  seem  to  have  no  evidence 
of  anything  growing  into  a  system  in  the  course  of  mental 
development  which  was  not  a  system  at  the  outset ".  One 
of  the  marks  of  the  pre-rational  elements  of  character  is  that 
they  to  a  certain  extent  already  form  a  system  and  seek  a 
definite  goal;  otherwise  they  would  not  be  able  to  find  a 
place  hi  a  more  comprehensive  organization.  A  typical  illus- 
tration of  this  at  the  beginnings  of  the  mental  development 
is  found  in  the  rise  of  voluntary  control.  The  babe  is  equipped 
at  birth  with  a  number  of  motor  coordinations  which  are  for 
the  most  part  random  and  spontaneous  and  poorly  executed. 
But  this  imperfect  hereditary  equipment  forms  the  nucleus 
for  further  organization  extending  to  the  larger  muscles  first 
and  finally  to  the  more  delicate  adjustments  of  the  smaller 
muscles. 

Thus,  at  first  unconsciously  and  later  consciously,  the 
mental  life  manifests  the  fundamental  tendency  to  grow 
through  organization.  The  process  continues  as  long  as  con- 
scious life  lasts.  It  exhibits  the  very  spirit  and  intent  of  all 
conscious  activity.  The  amused  child  is  content  because  its 


ORGANIZATION  FUNDAMENTAL  IN  CHARACTER      103 

toys,  games,  or  what  not,  provide  material  for  the  insatiable 
demand  of  the  mind  for  organization.  Enforced  idleness  or 
aimless  activity  is  torture  to  the  alert  individual  because  of 
the  dearth  of  material  for  the  organizing  activity  of  the  mind. 
For  the  same  reason  the  impulsives  and  the  hystericals  who 
represent  the  lowest  types  of  character  are  more  frequently 
the  victims  of  ennui  because  of  the  incapacity  for  sustained 
mental  activity  due  to  the  lack  of  organization. 

The  highest  and  most  intelligent  form  of  organization,  and 
hence  the  completest  expression  of  life,  is  found  in  human 
character.  The  principle  of  organization,  therefore,  provides 
us  with  a  criterion  not  only  for  placing  character  in  the  scale 
of  being  but  also  for  the  evaluation  of  character  itself.  For 
the  most  highly  organized  characters  are  the  most  perfect 
and  possess  the  greatest  social  value.  It  is  possible  to 
classify  characters  according  to  the  degree  and  type  of  their 
organization.  Thus  in  the  balanced  character  we  have  an 
organization  of  instincts,  emotions,  and  sentiments  without 
any  pronounced  preponderance  of  any  one  element.  There  is 
rather  a  harmony  of  strong  and  well  developed  tendencies 
which  balance  each  other  and  form  a  unified  ensemble  in  which 
no  one  sentiment  or  emotion  dominates  to  the  extent  that  it 
destroys  the  general  harmony.  In  the  unified  character,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  not  so  much  a  harmony  which  results 
from  the  balance  of  equal  tendencies  as  the  subordination  of 
all  the  tendencies  under  one  master  passion.  In  other  types 
of  character,  such  as  the  reflective,  the  nervous,  the  con- 
strained, the  emotional,  the  tranquil,  and  the  like,  we  have 
still  other  phases  of  organization;  the  list  is  all  but  inex- 
haustible. In  the  impulsive  character,  the  lowest  type  of  all, 
the  principle  of  organization  seems  to  be  violated  entirely. 
But  even  here  organization  still  obtains.  For  the  partial  dis- 
integration of  personality  in  the  neurotic  is  really  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  higher  systems  of  sentiment  are  supplanted  by 
lower  systems  of  emotion,  which  are  partially  isolated  and 
function  as  independent  selves. 

The  organization  of  the  moral  sentiments  presupposes, 


104     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

therefore,  the  presence  of  simpler  and  largely  innate  sys- 
tems, such  as  the  instincts  and  emotions.  These  are  also  the 
results  of  a  long  process  of  evolution  and  organization,  the 
instinct  being  largely  a  chain  of  reflexes.  When  these  primary 
systems  are  further  organized  around  objects  or  ideas  we  have 
a  sentiment,  the  most  comprehensive  phase  of  the  self.  The 
sentiments,  it  will  be  observed,  differ  in  important  respects 
from  reflexes,  instincts,  and  emotions.  They  are  not  innate 
but  are  developed  through  contact  with  our  fellows  in  society. 
The  sentiments  are  of  fundamental  concern,  therefore,  for  all 
ethical  problems.  For  they  condition  the  character  of  the 
individual  and  form  the  texture  of  the  social  order  in  so  far 
as  it  is  really  moral  and  human.  Without  sentiments  we 
should  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  impulsive  and  short-sighted  sys- 
tems of  emotions.  Life  would  be  chaotic,  inconsequent,  futile. 
The  sentiments  furnish  conscious  direction  for  appetite  and 
desire;  they  provide  our  measures  of  value  in  art,  religion, 
morals,  and  civic  life;  they  function  as  the  element  of  control 
in  every  moral  judgment. 

§  3.    CONSTITUENT  ELEMENTS  IN  CHARACTER 

McDougall  defines  an  instinct  as  "an  inherited  or  innate 
psycho-physical  disposition  which  determines  its  possessor  to 
perceive  and  to  pay  attention  to  objects  of  a  certain  class, 
to  experience  an  emotional  excitement  of  a  particular  quality 
upon  perceiving  such  an  object,  and  to  act  in  regard  to  it  in 
a  particular  manner,  or,  at  least,  to  experience  an  impulse  to 
such  action ".  The  instincts,  which  have  been  called  the 
"  cosmic  roots  "  of  character,  exhibit  afferent,  central,  and 
efferent  phases  corresponding  to  the  cognitive,  the  affective 
and  the  motor  phases  of  consciousness.  The  reaction  to  the 
sight  of  an  automobile  suddenly  rounding  the  corner  and 
bearing  down  upon  a  pedestrian  as  he  crosses  the  street  in- 
volves first  the  perception  of  the  machine,  then  the  inner 
affective  thrill  of  feeling,  and  finally  the  muscular  movements 
connected  with  escape  from  the  danger.  Of  these  three  stages 
the  first  and  the  last  admit  of  indefinite  modification  while 


CONSTITUENT  ELEMENTS  IN  CHARACTER         105 

the  second  or  affective  element  is  fixed  and  permanent.  The 
affective  experience  aroused  by  the  sight  of  the  machine  does 
not  differ  in  quality  from  the  affective  element  in  the  fear  of 
hell-fire.  But  the  means  that  have  been  used  during  the 
past  centuries  to  arouse  this  fear  of  hell-fire  and  the  provi- 
sions men  have  taken  to  avoid  hell-fire  have  varied  in  a  thou- 
sand ways  and  differ  widely  from  the  simple  act  of  perception 
and  the  muscular  movements  in  the  case  of  the  automobile. 

Intimately  associated  with  the  instinctive  systems,  among 
which  McDougall  distinguishes  as  most  important  flight,  re- 
pulsion, pugnacity,  self-abasement,  self-assurance,  the  paren- 
tal instincts,  and  curiosity,  are  emotional  systems,  likewise 
innately  related  to  each  other  and  possibly  to  the  instincts. 
The  seven  primary  instincts,  just  named,  have,  according  to 
McDougall,  the  emotional  accompaniments  of  fear,  disgust, 
anger,  subjection,  elation,  the  tender  emotion,  and  wonder. 
Shand,  however,  insists  upon  a  more  plastic  interpretation  of 
these  elementary  systems  of  instincts  and  emotions.  An  in- 
stinct, Shand  contends,  may  be  excited  without  the  accom- 
panying emotion.  The  systems  of  primary  emotions,  he  con- 
tends, are  not,  as  McDougall  implies,  merely  the  affective  as- 
pect of  an  instinct.  The  emotions  are  systems  more  or  less 
independent  of  the  instincts  and  embody  in  their  systems  those 
instincts  that  are  congenial  and  reject  those  that  are  not. 
Hence,  Shand  contends,  instincts  can  be  excited  without  emo- 
tional accompaniment  and  the  same  instinct  may  become 
related  to  different  emotional  systems.  In  unstable  and  neu- 
rotic temperaments  these  emotional  systems  become  relatively 
independent.  In  melancholia,  for  example,  the  emotional  sys- 
tems of  fear  or  sorrow  dominate  the  personality. 

The  power  to  build  up  emotional  systems  is  a  spiritual 
liability  as  well  as  an  asset  to  man.  Emotional  systems  cen- 
tering around  sensational  stimuli,  where  the  hereditary  asso- 
ciations are  strong,  are  seldom  abnormal.  But  emotional  sys- 
tems associated  with  id&es  fixes  tend  to  disturb  the  balance  of 
personality  because  they  are  not  controlled  by  the  higher  sys- 
tems. The  emotional  life  of  the  animal  is  safeguarded  by 


io6     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

the  fact  that  its  emotions  are  aroused  only  through  sense  stimuli 
that  are  innately  connected  with  the  emotion.  Through  ideas 
and  mental  images  man  is  able  to  separate  the  emotions  from 
their  hereditary  stimuli.  An  emotional  system  may,  therefore, 
become  a  wandering  star  in  the  mental  firmament  unless 
brought  under  the  control  of  the  sentiments.  There  are  ap- 
parently three  stages  in  the  evolution  of  the  emotions.  At 
the  lowest  level,  shared  by  man  with  the  animals,  the  emotions 
are  inseparable  from  certain  fixed  sensational  stimuli.  Later 
the  emotions  become  disengaged  from  this  hereditary  setting 
and  threaten  the  unity  of  the  mental  life  as  is  seen  in  the 
neurotic.  In  the  highest  type  of  personality  the  emotional 
systems  are  thoroughly  integrated  in  the  comprehensive  sys- 
tems of  sentiments  from  which  they  draw  their  meaning  and 
purpose. 

The  sentiment  is  the  most  comprehensive  phase  of  char- 
acter organization.  It  has  been  defined  as  "  an  organized 
system  of  emotional  dispositions  centered  about  the  idea  of 
some  object ".  A  sentiment  is,  therefore,  not  so  much  a  dis- 
tinct entity  in  the  mental  life  as  a  way  in  which  the  mind 
functions  by  virtue  of  its  organization.  The  sentiment  is 
eminently  teleological  in  that  it  finds  its  unity  and  coherence 
in  the  end  it  seeks.  It  tends  for  that  reason  to  subordinate  to 
its  end  the  minor  ends  of  the  lower  systems  of  emotions  and 
instincts.  Hence  we  may  have  the  rather  paradoxical  situa- 
tion in  which  the  same  instinct  or  emotional  system  constitutes 
a  part  of  systems  of  sentiments  that  are  opposed  to  each  other. 
The  Frenchman's  love  of  country  is  apparently  opposed  to 
his  hatred  of  Germany.  But  an  examination  will  show  that 
the  emotions  of  fear,  anger,  sorrow,  and  joy,  or  the  instincts 
of  fight,  repulsion,  curiosity,  and  the  like  will  be  constituent 
elements  in  both  systems  of  sentiments.  Love  of  country 
embraces  fear  when  her  welfare  is  menaced,  anger  when  she 
is  insulted,  sorrow  at  her  sufferings,  the  impulse  of  fight  when 
her  rights  are  endangered.  Likewise,  the  hatred  of  Germany 
involves  the  emotion  of  fear  at  her  power,  anger  at  her  cruel- 
ties, sorrow  when  she  triumphs,  and  the  instinct  of  fight  when 


CONSTITUENT  ELEMENTS  IN  CHARACTER        107 

she  oppresses  the  weak.  It  is  important  to  remember  that  the 
character  of  the  emotion  or  of  the  instinct  involved  is  deter- 
mined not  in  terms  of  its  inherent  structure  or  quality  but  in 
terms  of  the  end  sought  by  the  sentiment  of  which  the  instinct 
or  emotion  is  a  part.  It  is  the  end  sought  by  the  sentiments 
of  patriotism  of  the  German  and  the  Frenchman  rather  than 
the  emotional  or  instinctive  elements  entering  into  these  sen- 
timents that  determine  their  ethical  significance.  This  is  a 
principle  of  fundamental  importance  for  our  understanding  of 
the  part  played  by  the  sentiments  in  the  moral  life. 

The  unification  of  the  complex  systems  of  instincts  and 
emotions  in  the  sentiment  is  secured  through  ideas.  For  "  The 
idea  taken  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word  as  something  that  is 
stored  in  the  mind,  may  be  said  to  be  the  essential  nucleus  of 
the  sentiment,  without  which  it  cannot  exist,  and  through  the 
medium  of  which  several  emotional  dispositions  are  connected 
together  to  form  a  functional  system  ".  These  ideas  may  be 
associated  with  things  such  as  the  flag,  a  relic  of  a  saint,  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  or  the  sword  of  Washington. 
The  loftier  sentiments  are  centered  around  abstract  ideals  such 
as  freedom,  democracy,  love  of  God  or  of  the  truth. 

The  key  to  the  understanding  of  the  structure  of  the 
sentiments,  therefore,  is  to  be  found  in  the  relation  of  abstract 
ideals  to  the  lower,  relatively  permanent  systems  of  emotions 
and  instincts.  The  ways  in  which  these  lower  systems  can 
be  combined  and  recombined  in  weaving  the  fabric  of  the 
self  are  limitless.  These  lower  systems  may  be  compared  to 
the  sounding-board,  and  the  ideas  through  which  they  are 
combined  in  the  systems  of  sentiments  to  the  key-board,  of  a 
grand  piano.  When  a  virtuoso  renders  a  complicated  musical 
masterpiece  the  structure  of  the  sounding-board  is  not  mate- 
rially altered.  Just  as  marvellous  tonal  effects  are  made  pos- 
sible through  the  skilful  manipulation  of  the  mechanical  com- 
binations of  the  key-board,  so  character  is  but  the  rationalizing 
and  socializing  of  emotion  and  instinct  through  ideas. 


io8    THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

§  4.   THE  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

We  have  now  to  ask  what  are  the  implications  of  the  fore- 
going analysis  for  the  structure  and  functioning  of  the  moral 
sentiments.  It  is  obvious  that  a  moral  sentiment  is  differen- 
tiated from  the  other  sentiments,  such  as  the  religious  or  the 
aesthetic,  not  so  much  by  the  quality  of  the  emotions  or  the 
instincts  that  compose  it  as  by  the  ends  it  seeks.  The  unity 
and  purpose  of  a  moral  sentiment  is  secured  through  some 
ethical  norm  or  ideal  that  serves  to  organize  feeling  and  in- 
stinct. The  public  indignation  aroused  by  the  political  grafter 
or  the  profiteer  is  of  course  a  complex  mental  state  composed 
of  instincts,  feelings,  mental  images  of  persons  and  situations 
together  with  abstract  ideas.  But  this  state  of  mind  takes 
on  a  moral  character  only  in  so  far  as  the  complex  elements 
are  unified  and  interpreted  in  terms  of  some  general  norm  of 
conduct  which  men  feel  has  been  violated.  In  other  words, 
the  concrete  instance  is  subjected  to  a  moral  judgment,  the 
predicate  of  which  is  an  habitual  organization  of  the  moral 
sentiments  of  men.  What  lends  this  norm  or  ideal  its  com- 
pelling power  and  effectiveness  is  the  fact  that  it  is  shared 
by  all  the  good  citizens  of  the  community.  It  is  an  integral 
part  of  the  social  conscience.  For  the  efficiency  of  the  social 
conscience  of  a  community  is  obviously  a  matter  of  the  vigor 
and  the  uniformity  of  the  organizations  of  the  sentiments 
of  individuals  in  terms  of  principles  that  make  for  civic  right- 
eousness. 

In  this  connection  an  interesting  problem  arises  as  to  the 
relation  between  a  system  of  sentiment  as  a  whole  and  the 
general  principle  or  norm  that  serves  to  give  it  unity  and 
purpose.  Do  the  unifying  ideas  create  the  sentiment  in  the 
sense  that  they  first  suggest  a  definite  end  around  which  the 
more  or  less  chaotic  elements  of  the  lower  systems  gradually 
arrange  themselves?  Or  shall  we  say  that  the  ideas  are 
the  products  of  the  system  as  a  whole  in  that  they  are 
selected  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  system  or  arise  out 
of  the  effort  of  the  system  to  give  intelligent  interpretation 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS      109 

to  what  it  seeks?  It  must  be  confessed  that  up  to  the  present 
stage  of  social  evolution  pure  reason  has  played  a  rather  sub- 
ordinate role.  It  has  been  asserted  that  "  only  where  emo- 
tions are  organized  in  sentiments,  and  subordinated  to  their 
central  control,  are  the  higher  powers  of  the  intellect  de- 
veloped ".  For  "  all  intellectual  and  voluntary  processes  are 
elicited  by  the  system  of  some  impulse,  emotion  or  sentiment, 
and  subordinated  to  its  end  ".  The  facts  seem  to  indicate, 
therefore,  that,  while  the  norms  or  general  principles  give 
direction  to  a  sentiment,  they  are  at  the  same  time  the  ex- 
pression of  the  system  of  sentiment  as  a  whole.  The  relation 
is  an  organic  one.  Scientific  truth,  social  justice,  freedom, 
democracy,  and  the  like  have  meaning  and  driving  power 
for  us  only  as  they  are  thoroughly  embedded  in  some  pow- 
erful system  of  sentiment.  That  is,  they  have  no  mean- 
ing apart  from  or  independent  of  the  systems  of  which  they 
are  parts.  They  always  mean  in  immediate  experience  just 
what  the  warm,  pulsating  systems  of  sentiment  of  which  they 
are  parts  demand  they  shall  mean.  This  explains  why  our 
interpretations  of  such  abstractions  as  truth  or  justice  vary 
according  to  the  character  of  the  system  of  sentiment  of  which 
they  are  parts.  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  "  truth  "  as  part  of  a 
system  of  religious  sentiment  and  as  part  of  the  sentiments 
of  the  scientist  means  widely  different  things  and  the  differ- 
ence is  determined  exactly  in  terms  of  the  ends  sought  by  the 
two  different  types  of  sentiments  concerned.  The  ethical 
difference  between  the  saint's  love  of  God  and  the  miser's  love 
of  gold  is  not  a  matter  of  the  psychological  factors  concerned 
but  of  the  ends  sought  by  the  sentiments  as  a  whole. 

Every  sentiment,  then,  tends  to  create  its  own  scale  of 
ethical  values.  Those  ideas  that  are  in  harmony  with  the 
end  sought  by  the  sentiment  are  welcomed  and  embodied  in 
the  system  of  the  sentiment.  Those  ideas  that  are  antagonis- 
tic to  the  sentiment  are  rejected.  This  discrimination  between 
ideas  seldom  has  anything  to  do  with  their  scientific  value 
or  their  objective  truth.  The  odium  theologicum  aroused  by 
Galileo's  helio-centric  astronomy  and  later  by  the  theories 


no     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

of  Darwin  was  not  interested  in  the  scientific  value  of  these 
theories.  The  unpardonable  sin  committed  by  these  new 
ideas  was  that  they  did  not  harmonize  with  the  prevailing 
systems  of  religious  sentiments  organized  around  the  older 
scientific  ideas.  Powerful  sentiments  are  essentially  intol- 
erant, dogmatic,  self-satisfied;  for  them  whatever  is  is  right. 
Freedom  of  speech  was  impossible  in  the  slave-holding 
South.  There  is  in  fact  no  more  subtle  and  dangerous  enemy 
to  democratic  liberties  than  just  this  intolerance  born  of  the 
mastery  over  men  of  some  one  powerful  and  yet  one-sided 
sentiment. 

Every  well-developed  system  of  sentiment  also  exercises 
a  sort  of  selective  power  over  the  emotions  and  the  instincts. 
That  is,  every  system  of  sentiment  inclines  to  favor  those 
emotional  states  or  instinctive  attitudes  that  further  its  ends 
and  rejects  or  discounts  those  attitudes  that  tend  to  defeat  its 
ends.  The  sentiment  that  directs  the  search  for  scientific 
truth  selects  and  stresses  such  qualities  as  patience,  fortitude, 
the  courage  of  conviction,  open-mindedness,  impartiality,  free- 
dom of  thought  and  speech,  and  is  more  or  less  antagonistic 
to  the  tender  emotions  and  to  the  gregarious  impulses  which 
would  tend  to  dissipate  the  attention.  The  strenuous  competi- 
tion of  the  life  of  business  is  liable  to  build  up  systems  of 
sentiment  that  accentuate  the  instincts  of  fight  and  of  acquisi- 
tion while  neglecting  the  tender  emotions  such  as  sympathy. 
The  instincts  and  emotions  connected  with  curiosity  and  play 
that  form  the  roots  whence  spring  the  choicest  flowers  of 
civilization  in  art,  literature,  and  science  are  crushed  by  war- 
like sentiments.  The  disciplinary  effect  of  militarism  upon 
the  organization  of  the  social  conscience  is  for  this  reason  most 
dangerous.  In  industry  the  selfish  and  militant  sentiments 
encouraged  by  the  struggle  for  profits  leave  no  place  for  the 
tender  emotions  which  would  help  secure  justice  to  the  child- 
worker  or  the  unemployed. 

Owing  to  their  autonomous  and  self-sufficient  character  the 
sentiments,  especially  where  they  are  vigorous  and  thoroughly 
organized,  tend  to  introduce  the  element  of  relativity  into  the 


THE  ROLE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS          in 

moral  life.  It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  the  mother's  love  for 
her  child,  the  miser's  greed  for  gold,  or  the  saint's  enthusiasm 
for  the  kingdom  of  God,  tends  to  create  in  the  lives  of  these 
persons  measures  of  moral  values  that  are  often  downright 
anti-social.  May  it  not  be  said,  therefore,  that  the  more 
definitely  the  sentiments  are  organized  in  the  life  of  the 
individual  the  more  they  tend  to  defeat  the  moral  ideal?  Is 
not  every  sentiment,  to  a  certain  extent  at  least,  immoral? 
It  was  La  Rochefoucauld  who  said,  "  Les  passions  ont  une 
injustice  et  un  propre  interet,  qui  fait  qu'il  est  dangereux  de 
les  suivre,  et  qu'on  s'en  doit  defier,  lors  meme  qu'elles  parois- 
sent  les  plus  raisonnables  ". 

§  5.   THE  ROLE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

This  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  distinctive  role  that  the 
moral  sentiments  play  in  the  life  of  the  individual  in  contrast 
to  other  sentiments.  The  moral  sentiments  are  to  a  large 
extent  sovereign  among  the  sentiments.  When  sane  they  do 
not  exhibit  the  inherent  injustice  of  other  sentiments  because 
they  do  not  deal  with  private  or  selfish  ends.  The  moral  senti- 
ments are  organized  around  norms  that  deal  with  the  character 
of  the  individual  as  a  whole  or  with  the  welfare  of  the  com- 
munity as  a  whole.  For  this  reason  the  moral  sentiments  fur- 
nish the  cement  that  holds  the  structure  of  human  society  to- 
gether. They  play  a  similar  role  to  that  of  the  norms  of 
physical  hygiene  that  insure  the  health  and  continuity  of  the 
life  of  the  body.  A  completely  immoral  individual  or  social 
order  would  perish  of  sheer  incompetency  and  maladjustment. 
The  universal  and  categorical  nature  of  the  moral  sentiments 
is  to  be  understood  in  the  light  of  the  role  they  play. 
Society  cannot  admit  of  argument  or  of  wide  diversity  of 
view  when  the  essential  conditions  of  human  welfare  are  at 
stake. 

Because  of  their  fundamentally  important  role  the  moral 
sentiments  do  not  hesitate  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  other 
sentiments,  as  in  art  and  religion.  A  fundamental  violation 
of  the  rubrics  of  morals  in  a  work  of  art  can  never  be  offset  by 


ii2     THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS 

inherent  artistic  excellence.  Loftiness  and  intensity  of  religious 
devotion  are  never  accepted  by  the  masses  of  men  as  substitutes 
for  the  good,  old  fashioned  virtues  of  intellectual  honesty, 
courage,  or  the  spirit  of  fair  play.  This  explains  why  society 
as  a  whole  is  far  more  vitally  interested  in  the  creation  of  the 
sentiment  of  honesty  in  the  average  man  than  in  the  building 
up  of  a  general  belief  in  the  historicity  of  Jonah  or  of  the 
apostolic  succession.  Both  these  moot  religious  questions  have 
from  time  to  time  formed  the  center  of  vigorous  religious 
sentiments,  but  society  on  the  whole  is  convinced  that  its  wel- 
fare is  not  vitally  dependent  upon  the  cultivation  of  such 
sentiments.  There  is  a  profound  truth  in  the  dictum  of 
Nietzsche  that  religion  is  constantly  being  shipwrecked  upon 
morals.  An  enlightened  social  conscience  has  slowly  rid  us 
of  witch-burnings,  Spanish  auto-da-]is,  the  Puritan  Sabbath, 
and  heresy  trials. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  imagine,  however,  that  the  moral 
sentiments,  even  in  the  case  of  that  tested  body  of  sovereign 
ethical  principles  identified  with  the  social  conscience,  are 
fixed  and  absolute.  Thinkers  such  as  Plato  and  Kant  have 
sought  philosophical  justification  for  the  doctrine  that  the 
moral  sense  is  the  reflection  in  human  life  of  an  indefectible 
and  eternal  moral  order.  The  facts  of  social  evolution  go  to 
show,  however,  that  moral  sentiment  at  any  given  period  is 
never  a  clear-cut  and  logically  ordered  body  of  ideas  and  feel- 
ings. It  is  a  complex  composed  for  the  most  part  of  the  residua 
of  previous  stages  of  evolution,  fragments  of  partially  disinte- 
grated sentiments,  traces  of  ancient  loyalties  not  yet  entirely 
abandoned,  compromises  necessary  to  maintain  social  equili- 
brium. The  public  sentiment  that  composes  the  social  con- 
science is,  therefore,  only  partially  rational.  It  owes  its  struc- 
ture for  the  most  part  to  the  stresses  and  strains  of  the  social 
order  and  to  the  necessity  of  effecting  some  sort  of  adjustment 
between  the  various  groups  of  society.  Its  effectiveness,  how- 
ever, depends  in  increasing  measure,  in  our  close-knit  modern 
life,  upon  the  ability  of  the  individual  to  think  in  terms  of  com- 
prehensive ethical  catagories.  The  very  bewildering  com- 


THE  ROLE  OF  THE  MORAL  SENTIMENTS          113 

plexity  of  the  social  order  is  constantly  increasing  the  demand 
for  a  body  of  thought-out  ethical  norms. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books:  BALDWIN,  J.  M. :  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,  Chs. 
i,  2,  6,  13;  COOLEY,  C.  H. :  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,  Chs.  2-6; 
HOBHOUSE,  L.  T. :  Morals  in  Evolution,  Ch.  I;  MCDOUGALL,  W.:  Social 
Psychology,  Chs.  2-7 ;   MECKLIN,  J.   M. :   Democracy  and  Race  Friction, 
Chs.  i,  4,  7 ;  PAULHAN,  F.  G. :  Les  Caracteres,  1902 ;  PERRY,  R.  B. :  The 
Moral  Economy,  Ch.  I;   SHAND,  A.  F. :   The  Foundations  of  Character, 

pp.   23-62,    III-I2O,    177-196. 

2.  Articles :    KING,   I. :    "  Influence   of   the   Form   of   Social    Change 
upon  the  Emotional  Life  of  a  People."    American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
Vol.  9,   124  ff. ;   SHAND,  A.  F. :   "  Character  and  the  Emotions."     Mind, 
N.  S.,  Vol.  5,  PP.  203  ff. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

§  i.   THE  ROLE  OF  GROUP  CONSCIOUSNESS 

IN  a  famous  passage  in  the  Republic,  Plato  insists  that  no 
group,  even  the  most  anti-social,  can  exist  without  a  minimum 
of  morality  necessary  for  its  own  self-preservation.  "  Nay 
more,"  says  Socrates  in  his  observations  as  to  justice  among 
thieves,  "  when  we  speak  thus  confidently  of  gangs  of  evil- 
doers acting  together,  this  is  not  strictly  true,  for  if  they  had 
been  perfectly  unjust,  they  would  have  laid  hands  upon  one 
another;  but  there  must  evidently  have  been  some  remnant  of 
justice  in  them,  or  they  would  have  injured  one  another  as 
well  as  their  victims,  and  they  would  have  been  unable  to  act 
together;  they  were  but  semi-villainous,  for  had  they  been 
whole  villains,  wholly  unjust,  they  would  have  been  wholly 
uncapable  of  action  ".*  This  is  merely  a  paradoxical  way  of 
stating  the  fundamental  truth  that  a  certain  amount  of  homo- 
geneity of  sentiment,  resulting  in  a  measure  of  cooperation  and 
adjustment  of  contending  forces  within  the  group,  is  a  condi- 
tion pre-requisite  to  the  persistence  of  the  group's  life. 

Suggestions  of  the  social  conscience  are  to  be  discerned 
in  the  various  manifestations  of  the  gregarious  impulse  among 
the  lower  animals.  Indeed  it  has  been  claimed  that  it  is 
through  "  the  consciousness  of  kind,  as  a  determining  principle, 
that  we  are  to  seek  the  explanation  of  all  social  organization 
among  the  gregarious  animals  and  man  ".  To  lump  together  in 
this  way  all  the  complex  group  phenomena,  from  the  behavior 
of  a  school  of  mackerel  to  the  actions  of  a  group  of  citizens 
seeking  social  reform,  under  the  blanket  term  "  consciousness 
of  kind  "  has  been  called  "  the  climax  of  descriptive  vague- 

1  Republic,  p.  352,  Jowett's  translation. 

114 


CUSTOM  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  115 

ness  ".  Nevertheless,  we  can  detect  in  certain  differentiations 
of  the  gregarious  instincts  of  the  lower  animals  at  least  antici- 
pations of  the  social  conscience  in  man. 

Darwin  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  social  instincts  or 
those  immediately  concerned  with  the  preservation  of  the 
group  are  more  massive  and  persistent  than  the  egoistic  in- 
stincts. For  this  reason,  the  social  impulses  tend  to  control 
the  individual  in  the  interest  of  the  group.  The  migratory 
group  instinct  prevails  over  the  maternal  instinct  of  the  swallow 
so  that  she  deserts  her  young  to  follow  the  flock  as  it  wings 
its  way  southward.  The  group  impulse  influenced  a  little 
monkey  to  assist  his  master  attacked  by  a  powerful  baboon.1 
Galton's  wild  cow,  separated  from  the  herd,  was  restless  and 
unhappy  until  this  group-preserving  instinct  had  reunited  her 
with  her  fellows.2  In  the  case  of  the  savage,  whose  life  is  arbi- 
trarily ruled  by  custom  and  tradition,  conscience,  in  so  far  as 
it  may  be  said  to  exist,  is  identical  with  a  mass  of  sentiments 
and  ideas  reflecting  the  will  of  the  tribe.  The  pangs  of  con- 
science felt  by  the  individual  when  he  finds  himself  at  variance 
with  these  group  feelings  bear  a  very  close  family  resemblance 
to  the  uneasiness  of  Galton's  cow  when  separated  from  the 
herd.  Darwin  cites  the  experience  of  Dr.  Landor,  a  magis- 
trate of  Australia,  who  was  unable,  even  under  threat  of  im- 
prisonment for  murder,  to  deter  his  black  servant  from  yielding 
to  the  persistent  demands  of  tribal  loyalty  requiring  him  to  go 
to  a  distant  tribe  and  spear  a  woman  to  satisfy  his  sense  of 
duty  to  his  dead  wife.  It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  raison 
d'etre  for  all  feelings  of  group  solidarity  is  to  be  found  in  the 
necessity  for  the  maintenance  of  a  healthful  and  unbroken 
group  life. 

§  2.     CUSTOM   AND   THE   SOCIAL   CONSCIENCE 

In  the  case  of  man,  however,  these  feelings  of  solidarity 
that  make  society  possible  become  tremendously  complex.  The 
social  conscience  is  only  one  phase  of  the  mass  of  feelings  that 

1  Darwin,  The  Descent  of  Man,  pp.  126  f. 

2  Enquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  p.  48. 


n6  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

have  been  lumped  together  under  the  vague  term  "  conscious- 
ness of  kind  ".  We  have  now  to  ask  what  is  the  relation  be- 
tween the  social  conscience  and  custom,  law,  public  opinion, 
public  sentiment,  the  social  will,  and  similar  phases  of  the 
social  mind. 

The  social  conscience  and  its  cognate  term  public  sentiment 
are  for  the  most  part  differentiations  of  custom,  the  jons  et 
origo  of  human  society.  Custom  is  the  oldest  and  most  com- 
prehensive form  of  social  control.  It  is  called  by  Bacon  "  the 
principal  magistrate  of  man's  life  ".  The  relation  of  custom  to 
law  and  morality  is  most  intimate.  It  is  thus  stated  by  Wundt: 
"  Custom,  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  ordinarily  used  to-day, 
means  a  norm  of  voluntary  action  that  is  valid  for  a  national 
or  tribal  society  without  enforcement  by  express  command  or 
by  punishment  for  non-conformity.  It  is  true  that  custom  finds 
its  own  means  of  compulsion.  But  these,  like  custom  itself, 
are  never  of  the  obligatory  kind.  They  consist  neither  in  sub- 
jective commandments  like  the  moral  laws,  nor  in  objective 
menaces  like  the  laws  of  the  state.  On  the  other  hand,  custom 
is  related  both  to  morality  and  to  law;  to  morality,  in  having 
at  its  disposal  a  subjective,  and  to  law,  in  having  at  its  dis- 
posal an  objective  means  of  compulsion.  The  first  consists  in 
a  natural  dislike,  closely  akin  to  the  imitative  impulse,  of  mak- 
ing oneself  conspicuously  different  from  one's  fellows;  the 
second,  in  the  social  disadvantages — disparaging  remarks  or 
rough  treatment — that  follow  upon  any  considerable  deviation 
from  the  ordinary  code  of  behavior.  The  fear  of  seeming  pe- 
culiar affects  a  weak  nature  as  powerfully  as  a  bad  conscience 
could  do;  and  the  real  injuries  consequent  upon  non-observ- 
ance of  a  custom  may  be  more  keenly  felt  than  the  penalties 
with  which  the  law  punishes  actual  crime."  1 

One  of  the  important  differentiations  custom  underwent 
was  that  between  ways  of  acting  enforced  by  law  and  ways  of 
acting  enforced  by  public  sentiment.  This  was  brought  about 
through  the  pressure  of  social  need.  For,  obviously,  as  society 
grows  more  complex  men  will  come  to  feel  that  there  are  norms 

1  Ethics,  Vol.  i,  p.  151. 


CUSTOM  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  117 

of  conduct  which  are  of  fundamental  importance  for  social 
welfare  and  hence  stand  in  need  of  special  authority  for  their 
enforcement.  Theoretically,  law  covers  these  norms  of  con- 
duct back  of  which  there  is  unanimity  of  public  sentiment 
and  for  the  enforcement  of  which  society  is  willing  to  make 
use  of  coercion.  Custom  and  public  sentiment  as  opposed  to 
law  deal  with  those  norms  that  lie  open  to  debate  or  which 
from  the  nature  of  the  situation  do  not  lend  themselves  to 
exact  legal  formulation  or  to  physical  coercion.  Public  sen- 
timent, for  example,  may  be  fairly  unanimous  in  its  condemna- 
tion of  a  common  scold  but  this  sentiment  is  not  of  such  a 
character  that  it  can  easily  be  reduced  to  law  or  supported  by 
physical  force. 

After  the  elimination  of  the  norms  with  legal  sanction  it 
is  possible  to  draw  another  distinction  among  those  norms  that 
are  left,  namely,  the  distinction  between  those  that  are  purely 
customary  and  those  that  are  obligatory  or  contain  a  moral 
element.  Customary  action  is  voluntary  in  the  sense  that  its 
authority  does  not  depend  upon  express  command  and  no  defi- 
nite penalty  is  attached  to  its  violation.  The  power  of  custom 
is  due  primarily  to  the  instinctive  impulse  to  imitate,  which  is 
fortified  by  the  gregarious  and  sympathetic  tendencies  oppos- 
ing whatever  sets  us  apart  from  our  fellows.  This,  combined 
with  the  social  inconveniences  that  arise  through  any  marked 
deviation  from  the  established  code,  lends  to  custom  its  com- 
pelling power.  Through  it  groups,  and  even  advanced  socie- 
ties, are  held  together  with  little  aid  from  law  and  the  formal 
instruments  of  the  group  will.  This  enables  us  to  understand, 
furthermore,  the  strain  placed  upon  a  group  or  a  community 
where  the  "  cake  of  custom  "  has  been  broken  and  men  are 
thrown  back  upon  the  necessity  of  formulating  new  ethical 
norms.  Thereby  reflective  morality  is  made  to  carry  the  entire 
burden  of  social  control.  "  Crisis  "  is  the  term  that  has  been 
fittingly  applied  to  such  critical  periods  in  the  life  of  a  people. 

But  there  is  within  the  large  field  of  social  norms  not 
covered  by  the  law  many  that  are  not  merely  customary  but 
very  clearly  contain  an  ethical  element.  Neither  custom,  nor 


n8  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

law  are  as  such  moral,  immoral,  or  unmoral.  They  may 
belong  to  any  one  of  these  three  categories.  But  whenever  a 
law  or  custom  is  closely  related  with  matters  of  vital  concern 
to  the  community,  when  either  one  touches  the  question  of 
human  values,  it  inevitably  takes  on  a  moral  tone.  For  ethics 
deals  with  those  norms  that  are  of  fundamental  social  import. 
Now  there  is  in  every  civilized  community  a  body  of  sentiment, 
relatively  fixed  and  authoritative,  composed  of  norms  of  con- 
duct that  are  not  purely  customary  and  that  are  not  com- 
pletely embodied  in  law  but  that  are  recognized  as  of  vital  im- 
portance for  the  entire  community.  Fichte  has  in  mind  this 
phase  of  morality  when  he  speaks  of  the  "  principles  of  con- 
duct which  regulate  people  in  their  relations  to  each  other,  and 
which  have  become  a  matter  of  habit  and  second  nature  at  the 
stage  of  culture  reached,  and  of  which,  therefore,  we  are  not 
explicitly  conscious.  Principles  we  call  them,  because  we  do 
not  refer  to  the  sort  of  conduct  that  is  casual  or  is  determined 
on  casual  grounds,  but  to  the  hidden  and  uniform  ground  of 
action  which  we  assume  to  be  present  in  the  man  whose  action 
is  not  deflected  and  from  which  we  can  pretty  certainly  predict 
what  he  will  do  ".  It  is  this  body  of  authoritative  ethical  senti- 
ment that  constitutes  the  social  conscience. 

Obviously  the  customary  has  much  in  common  with  that 
phase  of  the  moral  dealt  with  by  the  social  conscience.  The 
social  conscience,  like  the  customary,  is  the  product  of  the 
organization  of  the  instincts  and  emotions  around  fundamental 
human  needs  essential  to  the  life  of  society.  Both  custom  and 
the  social  conscience  are  most  pronounced  in  connection  with 
institutions  such  as  the  home,  the  church,  the  state,  or  in  con- 
nection with  birth,  death,  war,  sex.  The  social  conscience,  like 
custom,  becomes  strongly  surcharged  with  emotion  and  feel- 
ing. For  the  emotions  are  the  immediate  affective  accompani- 
ments of  the  basal  elements  of  character.  In  both  custom  and 
the  social  conscience  the  ideational  element  tends  to  be  subor- 
dinated to  the  affective  element.  The  general  ideas  or  norms 
that  find  embodiment  either  in  social  conscience  or  in  custom 
owe  their  power  over  men  not  to  their  logical  coherence  nor  to 


CUSTOM  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  119 

their  scientific  value  so  much  as  to  the  compelling  force  of 
the  systems  of  sentiments  of  which  they  are  parts.  Finally, 
custom  and  social  conscience  are  largely  the  results  of  the 
more  or  less  accidental  stresses  and  strains  of  the  social 
process.  Their  character  is  determined  in  terms  of  the  de- 
mands of  the  given  stage  of  social  evolution  for  stability  and 
balance  of  social  forces. 

But,  while  closely  related  and  having  much  in  common, 
custom  and  the  social  conscience  are  not  identical.  For  in 
the  customary  act  we  yield  to  the  pressure  of  social  habit 
without  any  feeling  of  obligation.  In  the  moral  act  the  im- 
portant thing  is  the  sense  of  the  ought.  In  the  conventional 
or  customary  act  there  is  no  reflection  upon  the  social  signifi- 
cance of  the  act  or  its  relation  to  the  character  and  previous 
acts  of  the  agent.  In  an  ethical  situation  there  is  more  or  less 
critical  reflection  upon  the  entire  situation  and  the  bearing  of 
the  act  upon  society  and  the  lives  of  the  others.  This  is  par- 
ticularly true  of  individual  morality.  For  here  ethical  prob- 
lems of  a  unique  and  personal  nature  arise,  for  the  solution  of 
which  there  is  no  convenient  and  ready-made  ethical  norm. 
"  Cases  of  conscience  "  often  require  a  critical  revision  of  ethi- 
cal norms  to  fit  the  new  situation.  Even  in  the  case  of  the 
social  conscience  there  is  often  more  or  less  critical  analysis 
and  recasting  of  old  ethical  standards.  There  is  this  im- 
portant difference,  however,  that  the  social  conscience  is  much 
more  a  matter  of  tradition,  of  inherited  social  standards,  of 
the  accidental  demands  of  adjustment  to  the  larger  social  order. 
Furthermore,  the  problems  of  the  social  conscience  are  usually 
more  remote.  They  rarely  touch  the  individual's  life  at  first 
hand.  Too  often  they  are  solved  by  the  hasty  and  uncritical 
application  of  broad  generalizations  of  popular  philosophy  that 
may  have  become  embedded  in  the  moral  sentiments  of  the 
average  man. 

It  is  possible,  then,  to  define  the  social  conscience  in  gen- 
eral as  that  body  of  comprehensive  ethical  norms  that  are 
integral  parts  of  the  moral  sentiments  of  the  members  of  the 
group,  that  enjoy  unchallenged  authority,  that  function  almost 


120  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

automatically  in  the  settlement  of  ethical  issues,  and  that 
insure  the  continuity  and  the  integrity  of  the  group's  life. 
Functionally,  the  social  conscience  manifests  itself  in  the  em- 
phasis placed  upon  certain  forms  of  behavior,  certain  types  of 
character,  and  the  condemnation  of  their  opposites.  The  social 
conscience,  therefore,  is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  intimate 
and  personal  phases  of  the  moral  experience  that  are  unique. 
For  the  social  conscience  is  concerned  only  with  the  broad  and 
comprehensive  ethical  categories  by  means  of  which  the  indi- 
vidual orients  himself  upon  the  issues  that  have  to  do  with 
social  justice  and  civic  righteousness.  Obviously  these  larger 
moral  categories  are  intimately  associated  with  the  institutional 
forms  that  safeguard  communal  or  national  welfare.  The 
social  conscience  is,  in  fact,  the  subjective  correlative  in  the 
minds  of  the  members  of  the  community  of  that  objective  bal- 
ance of  wills  that  finds  expression  through  a  well-ordered,  insti- 
tutional life.  To  be  moral  is,  as  Hegel  said,  to  be  suckled  at 
the  breast  of  the  universal  Ethos. 

§  3.   CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

The  previous  discussion  has  made  it  possible  perhaps  to 
state  more  accurately  the  characteristics  of  the  social  con- 
science. It  must  be  remembered,  first,  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  an  objective,  organized  body  of  ethical  sentiment  inde- 
pendent of  individuals.  To  speak  of  the  social  conscience  as 
"  corporate  ethical  sentiment "  is,  therefore,  figurative  only. 
The  social  conscience  is  individual  in  residence  and  social  in 
function.  It  relates  to  those  phases  of  the  ethical  sentiments 
that  deal  primarily  with  social  problems.  It  is  concerned  with 
those  norms  that  make  possible  group  action  upon  ethical 
issues.  The  conscience  of  the  primitive  man  was  practically 
all  social  conscience.  In  the  second  place,  the  social  conscience 
is  characterized  by  the  conscious  use  of  ethical  norms  for  the 
preservation  of  group  welfare.  Hence  arises  the  awareness  of 
the  authoritative  role  of  the  social  conscience  towards  all  phases 
of  the  community's  life.  Hence  also  the  conscious  reference 
to  public  welfare.  This  regard  for  human  values  in  the  larger 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE      121 

sense  is  what  distinguishes  the  social  from  the  individual 
conscience.  The  individual  must,  of  course,  if  he  pushes  his 
analysis  far  enough,  raise  the  question  of  the  common  good 
in  the  effort  to  solve  his  own  ethical  questions,  but,  as  a  rule, 
he  does  not. 

It  is,  therefore,  when  appeal  is  taken  to  the  comprehensive 
ethical  norms  recognized  by  all  as  necessary  to  the  preservation 
of  the  common  good  that  social  conscience  is  active.  In  the 
case  of  the  prohibition  movement,  for  example,  whenever  the 
members  of  various  groups  consciously  apply  commonly  ac- 
cepted ethical  norms,  used  by  the  average  man  when  asked  to 
define  the  ideal  conditions  of  social  well-being,  the  issue  be- 
comes an  ethical  one.  It  is  of  course  obvious  that  intensive 
thinking  along  religious,  economic,  political,  and  even  aesthetic 
lines  in  regard  to  the  liquor  evil  or  any  other  great  social 
wrong  will  bring  us  ultimately  face  to  face  with  these  compre- 
hensive ethical  norms  of  human  well-being.  The  ethical  char- 
acter of  these  norms,  as  has  been  repeatedly  suggested,  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  they  prevent  social  waste  and  friction,  they 
eliminate  unhealthful  and  unnecessary  clash  of  human  wills, 
they  safeguard  the  rights  and  capacities  of  many-sided  human 
nature,  they  insure  the  intelligent  and  beneficial  perpetuation 
of  social  forms  and  institutions, — in  a  word,  they  make  possible 
in  so  far  as  they  are  intelligently  applied  a  self-conscious  and 
sanely  balanced  society.  They  make  for  the  solution  of  the 
social  problem. 

The  social  conscience  is  essentially  disinterested.  There 
is  a  sense  of  course  in  which  all  moral  sentiment  is  disinter- 
ested. But  it  will  hardly  be  denied  that  the  individual  whose 
conduct  is  inspired  by  broad  principles  of  social  justice  is  more 
disinterested  than  when  he  is  trying  to  solve  an  issue  of  private 
morality.  Conduct  is  disinterested  when  it  is  stripped  of  the 
immediate,  egoistic  elements.  Or,  to  state  it  in  other  terms, 
conduct  is  disinterested  when  it  is  actuated  by  principles  that 
include  in  their  scope  the  highest  human  values.  Disinterested- 
ness was  long  thought  by  the  psychologists  to  be  a  matter  of 
the  altruistic  impulses.  Spencer  for  this  reason  was  inclined 


122  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

to  give  to  the  altruistic  impulses  the  last  word  in  the  eternal 
argument  between  egoism  and  altruism.  McDougall  asserts 
that  Christianity  owes  much  of  its  power  over  the  hearts  of  men 
to  the  fact  that  it  emphasizes  the  home  and  the  family,  institu- 
tions based  upon  the  sympathetic  and  tender  emotions  so  im- 
portant at  the  higher  level  of  civilization.  In  reality,  however, 
any  sentiment  is  disinterested  not  because  of  its  instinctive  or 
emotional  content  but  because  of  its  end.  The  disinterested 
sentiment  of  patriotism  may  include  the  so-called  egoistic 
elements  of  anger,  acquisitiveness,  pugnacity,  sorrow,  and  the 
like.  The  end  sought  by  the  sentiment  as  a  whole  lends  to  its 
constituent  elements  their  ethical  character. 

The  disinterestedness  of  the  social  conscience  is  found,  then, 
in  the  fact  that  it  organizes  instinct,  emotion,  and  impulse  into 
comprehensive  systems  of  sentiment  that  are  concerned  with 
the  larger  and  more  permanent  human  interests.  Social  justice, 
civic  righteousness,  efficiency  in  public  service,  industrial 
democracy,  sensitiveness  to  the  sufferings  of  the  weaker  or 
oppressed  groups,  enlarged  conceptions  of  social  responsibility, 
these  are  the  elements  that  serve  to  give  point  and  direction  to 
a  progressive  public  sentiment.  They  include  those  great 
ethical  norms  which  more  than  any  other  subordinate  the  indi- 
vidual and  his  rights  and  ambitions  to  the  welfare  of  the  whole. 
Disinterestedness  is  often  identified  with  impersonality  and 
with  a  measure  of  truth.  But  the  ethical  ideal  can  never  be 
entirely  emptied  of  concrete  content.  The  eternal  personal  ele- 
ment is  always  present.  The  very  impersonality  of  a  disinter- 
ested social  conscience  is  but  the  emphasis  of  the  universal 
human  phase  of  the  personal.  Where  the  impersonal  element 
is  falsely  and  artificially  divorced  from  the  concrete  personal 
setting  it  tends,  strange  to  say,  to  degenerate  into  unregulated 
and  even  anarchistic  individualism.  It  has  been  pointed  out 
that  ethical  nihilism  similar  to  that  of  Nietzsche  underlies 
Emerson's  doctrine  of  the  over-soul.1  To  orient  one's  life  in 
terms  of  remote  and  ideal  abstractions  in  practice  often  en- 

1  Shaw :  "  Emerson  as  Nihilist,"  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol. 
25,  pp.  68  ff. 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE      123 

courages  moral  anarchy  for  it  is  equivalent  to  setting  adrift 
upon  an  uncharted  sea.  The  over-soul,  translated  into  action, 
may  mean  a  lawless  and  self-assertive  individual  soul. 

In  so  far  as  the  social  conscience  is  rational  and  purposive, 
however,  it  must  subordinate  the  concrete  and  the  individual 
to  the  abstract  and  the  universal.  Indeed  the  social  conscience 
is  only  possible  because  men  have  the  power  to  organize  their 
feelings  and  emotions  around  general  principles  such  as  social 
justice,  honesty,  civic  pride,  human  welfare.  This  means  that 
the  judgments  of  the  social  conscience  are  not  pronounced  in 
terms  of  the  concrete,  definite,  and  highly  institutionalized 
sentiments  connected  with  group  or  private  interests.  The 
predicates  of  its  moral  judgments  are  provided  by  the  common 
sentiments  that  gather  around  more  or  less  abstract  and  dis- 
interested conceptions  of  social  righteousness.  Where  the 
members  of  the  community  think  in  terms  of  narrow  and  selfish 
sentiments  that  get  their  "  set "  from  business,  church,  party, 
or  family  interests,  public  spirit  is  impossible  and  a  sensitive 
and  efficient  social  conscience  is  an  idle  dream. 

Two  things,  then,  are  indispensable  to  a  vigorous  social 
conscience.  The  first  is  enlightenment  and  the  second  is  a 
dynamic  social  situation  which  forces  men  to  do  their  thinking 
on  ethical  problems  in  comprehensive  and  more  or  less  abstract 
terms.  For  the  social  conscience  is  concerned  primarily  with 
the  objective  phase  of  morality.  It  is  composed  of  those  gen- 
eral ethical  norms  that  men  are  forced  to  frame  because  of 
social  issues  and  social  contacts.  The  social  conscience  will  be 
most  articulate  and  self-conscious,  therefore,  in  a  social  order 
in  which  men  are  compelled  to  pay  constant  attention  to  the 
larger  social  situation  or,  in  other  words,  where  the  social  tends 
to  obtrude  itself  more  and  more  into  the  private  and  personal. 
This  necessity  for  formulating  and  applying  general  norms  is 
of  course  most  in  evidence  in  a  social  order  where  custom  and 
tradition  are  unable  to  meet  the  situation.  It  is  particularly 
felt  where  there  are  always  marginal  areas  of  moral  experience 
that  are  not  covered  by  law  and  ethical  traditions,  where  con- 
flicts are  ever  arising  demanding  reflection  and  the  weighing 


124  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

of  interests.  The  great  increments  to  ethical  thought  have 
always  come  as  a  result  of  reflection  and  analysis  made  neces- 
sary through  social  changes  and  the  discrediting  of  traditions, 
a  typical  illustration  of  which  was  the  Athens  of  Socrates. 

A  vigorous  social  conscience  obviously  makes  great  demand 
upon  the  moral  imagination.  It  only  exists,  therefore,  where 
there  is  an  advanced  stage  of  enlightenment.  The  best  ethical 
ideas  of  an  age  are  never  the  possession  of  the  average  man. 
They  are  living  realities  only  in  the  refined  and  highly  organ- 
ized sentiments  of  moral  leaders.  The  average  man,  especially 
in  a  dynamic  society,  shares  in  this  higher  realm  of  ethical 
insight  but  only  because  he  takes  the  great  moral  leader  as  his 
guide.  For  these  subtler  values  are  objectified  in  the  person- 
ality of  the  leader  and  thus  find  their  way  through  suggestion 
and  imitation  and  the  countless  avenues  of  social  contact  into 
the  moral  life  of  the  community.  Lincoln  has  furnished  moral 
"  social  copy  "  to  Americans  for  over  half  a  century.  The 
demands  upon  the  moral  imagination  of  the  average  man  are 
increasing  constantly.  The  abstract  idea  is  becoming  more 
and  more  the  basis  of  social  relations.  We  are  living  in  the 
organic  phase  and  the  sins  and  social  injustices  of  which  we 
complain  can  be  seen  only  with  the  mind's  eye. 

§  4.   THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  AND  THE  VIRTUES 

It  should  be  obvious  from  the  foregoing  analysis  that  the 
social  conscience  is  closely  connected  with  the  idea  of  virtue. 
Broadly  speaking,  virtue  is  the  term  we  apply  to  some  phase 
of  character  or  habit  of  will  that  is  recognized  as  having  social 
merit.  According  to  Aristotle,  moral  virtue  is  not  something 
implanted  in  us  by  nature  but  is  the  outcome  of  habit  or,  in 
modern  parlance,  of  the  organizations  of  the  sentiments.  Men 
gain  this  habit  by  acting  in  certain  ways  in  society.  "  The  vir- 
tues we  acquire  by  first  exercising  them,  as  is  the  case  with  all 
the  arts,  for  it  is  by  doing  what  we  ought  to  do  when  we  have 
gained  the  arts  that  we  learn  the  arts  themselves;  we  become, 
for  example,  builders  by  building  and  harpists  by  playing  the 
harp.  Similarly  it  is  by  doing  just  acts  that  we  become  just, 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  AND  THE  VIRTUES      125 

by  doing  temperate  acts  that  we  become  temperate,  by  doing 
courageous  acts  that  we  become  courageous.  The  experience 
of  states  is  a  witness  to  this  truth,  for  it  is  by  training  the 
habits  that  legislators  make  good  citizens."  *  The  virtues,  then, 
sum  up  those  phases  of  character  that  are  recognized  by  all 
members  of  the  community  as  of  special  importance  for  the 
maintenance  of  a  healthful  social  life. 

As  it  was  in  democratic  Athens  that  social  self-conscious- 
ness first  reached  an  advanced  stage  of  development,  so  it  was 
there  that  thinkers  first  tried  to  classify  the  virtues  or  socially 
valuable  phases  of  character.  Aristotle's  catalogue  includes 
such  qualities  as  liberality,  high-mindedness,  magnificence, 
wittiness,  and  friendship,  all  held  in  high  esteem  in  ancient 
Athens.  But  the  outstanding  virtues  are  courage,  temperance, 
wisdom,  and  justice.  Both  Aristotle  and  Plato  conceived  of 
these  phases  of  character  in  a  highly  rationalistic  fashion. 
Courage,  for  Aristotle,  is  the  mean  between  foolhardiness  and 
cowardice,  temperance  the  mean  between  licentiousness  and 
insensibility.  Reason  or  insight,  therefore,  is  the  determining 
factor  in  the  shaping  of  a  virtue.  And  yet  even  for  Aristotle 
"  the  good  of  man  is  an  activity  of  soul  in  accordance  with 
virtue  or,  if  there  are  more  virtues  than  one,  in  accordance  with 
the  best  and  most  complete  virtue.  But  it  is  necessary  to  add 
the  words, '  in  a  complete  life '."  Evidently  there  was  back  of 
this  phrase  "  in  a  complete  life  "  the  image  of  the  Athenian 
city-state  as  the  setting  that  determined  these  virtues.  Hence 
Plato  in  his  Republic,  a  sketch  of  the  ideal  state  that  is  to 
make  possible  the  comprehensive  virtue  of  justice,  really  gives 
us  an  idealization  of  existing  Athenian  society. 

Much  of  the  formalism  and  lack  of  human  interest  that  has 
characterized  the  traditional  treatment  of  the  virtues  is  due  to 
the  failure  to  recognize  that  virtues  are  really  types  or  phases 
of  the  organization  of  the  sentiments  of  the  average  man 
brought  about  by  the  stresses  and  strains  of  the  social  order  in 
which  he  lives.  It  is  true  that  more  than  any  people  of  history 
the  Greeks  struck  the  universal  human  note  in  the  arts  and 

1  Nicomachean  Ethics,  Book  II,  Ch.  I. 


126  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

formulated  the  enduring  problems  of  philosophy.  Hence  it  is 
possible  to  find  points  of  similarity  between  the  Aristotelian 
definitions  of  courage,  temperance,  wisdom  or  justice,  and  the 
prevailing  ethical  ideals  of  subsequent  civilization.  But  it 
should  not  be  forgotten  that  Athenian  society  has  never  been 
duplicated.  The  peculiar  structure  of  the  groups  and  com- 
munities that  have  lived  since  the  fourth  century  B.C.  have 
varied  infinitely.  Hence  the  structure  of  the  social  conscience 
of  every  age  and  more  or  less  of  every  nation  must  necessarily 
be  different.  Variations  of  political,  religious,  economic,  or 
social  emphasis  will  tend  to  bring  those  virtues  or  organizations 
of  the  moral  sentiments  into  prominence  that  harmonize  with 
the  demands  of  the  social  structure  while  discrediting  other 
virtues  that  do  not  harmonize. 

It  is  most  instructive  to  contrast  the  structure  of  the  social 
conscience  of  Athenian  society  reflected  in  Aristotle's  classifi- 
cation of  the  virtues  in  the  second  book  of  his  Nicomachean 
Ethics  with  the  structure  of  the  social  conscience  of  the  early 
Christians  as  reflected  in  their  writings.  It  will  be  found  that 
in  the  latter  the  virtue  of  high-mindedness  is  subordinated  to 
that  of  humility;  magnificence  and  liberality,  which  presuppose 
an  ethical  evaluation  of  great  wealth,  disappear  while  poverty 
is  stressed;  the  civic  virtues  of  courage  and  justice  make 
way  for  passive  attitudes  of  meekness,  forbearance,  gentle- 
ness, charity;  the  intellectual  virtues  of  wisdom,  sagacity, 
and  the  like  are  discounted  entirely.  It  is  impossible  to 
understand  this  almost  complete  transvaluation  of  values  with- 
out keeping  in  mind  the  totally  different  setting,  social, 
political,  and  economic  that  effected  such  a  striking  difference 
in  the  organization  of  the  social  conscience  of  the  early 
Christians. 

After  the  rise  of  institutional  Christianity  that  brought  the 
priest  and  the  sacrament  into  the  center  of  the  stage  and  made 
them  the  dispensers  of  spiritual  truth  and  power,  and  after  the 
formulation  of  the  great  creeds  such  as  that  of  Nicea  in  325, 
it  is  possible  to  detect  another  shifting  of  ethical  values  in  the 
social  conscience.  We  now  find  that  the  so-called  Christian 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  AND  THE  VIRTUES      127 

virtues  of  faith  and  love  are  made  fundamental  in  character. 
It  is  only  after  regenerating  faith  has  touched  the  springs  of 
moral  power  and  made  possible  the  life  of  love  that  the  indi- 
vidual is  able  to  cultivate  effectively  the  virtues  of  temperance, 
wisdom,  courage,  and  justice.  In  the  mind  of  as  great  a 
thinker  as  Augustine  the  virtues  of  Aristotle  were  all  but  dis- 
counted; they  had  no  merit  in  and  of  themselves.  For  him  the 
virtues  of  the  pagan,  that  is  of  the  unregenerate  soul,  were 
"  gilded  vices  ".  Later  in  the  famous  regula  of  St.  Benedict 
of  Nursia  (circa  530  A.D.)  we  have  an  outline  of  a  most  elabo- 
rate group  life  designed  to  surround  the  monk  with  a  social 
discipline  that  would  give  to  his  moral  sentiments  a  form  of 
organization  in  which  humility  holds  the  highest  place  among 
the  virtues.  With  the  advent  of  Protestantism  a  social 
discipline  arose,  the  tendency  of  which  was  to  create  another 
type  of  social  conscience  and  another  scale  of  moral  values. 
Lecky  has  shown  how  the  rise  of  an  industrial  society  has 
tended  to  emphasize  the  virtues  of  veracity,  order,  sobriety, 
thrift,  while  diminishing  the  virtues  so  prized  in  the  middle 
ages,  namely,  reverence  and  humility. 

It  should  be  plain  from  this  brief  sketch  that  there  are  no 
fixed  norms  of  the  social  conscience  that  persist  the  same  from 
age  to  age.  The  so-called  virtues  of  the  moral  theorist  are  in 
reality  variable  terms,  purely  formal  concepts.  They  give  in 
broad  schematic  form  the  outstanding  characteristics  of  the 
organized  moral  sentiments  of  every  age.  There  is  no  classifi- 
cation of  the  virtues  that  is  final.  What  we  have  is  an  ever- 
changing  mass  of  moral  sentiment  that  is  being  molded  to  fit 
the  needs  of  a  social  order  that  is  never  static.  With  the  shifts 
of  emphasis,  the  redistribution  of  the  stresses  and  strains, 
comes  a  change  in  the  moral  emphasis.  The  virtues  are  aitef 
all  comprehensive  norms  that  men  find  indispensable  for  the 
solution  of  the  eternal  social  problem.  These  norms  cannot 
possibly  be  any  more  permanent  than  the  human  order  that 
gave  them  birth. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  moral  life  is  essentially  rela- 
tivistic.  The  social  conscience  presupposes  continuity  of  social 


128  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

traditions.  The  ethical  generalizations  of  the  social  conscience 
cannot  be  viewed  as  merely  the  results  of  the  needs  of  one 
given  stage  isolated  from  the  past.  Ethical  norms  arise  as  part 
of  the  social  process  and  are  related  both  to  the  future  and  to 
the  past.  They  are  organically  connected  with  the  past  and  yet 
they  do  not  grow  out  of  it  by  strict  logical  sequence.  They 
look  to  the  future  and  yet  they  do  not  anticipate  in  its  entirety 
the  nature  of  the  ethical  ideal  as  it  will  take  shape  a  decade  or  a 
generation  hence.  Our  present  formulation  of  the  ethical  ideal 
derives  its  concrete  content  from  the  conflicting  interests  con- 
cerned in  the  immediate  social  order.  We  depend  upon  the 
past  for  perspective  and  the  critical  estimate  of  the  values  con- 
cerned. The  particular  application  we  are  to  make  of  the 
formal  ethical  norms  to  modern  conditions  and  the  content  of 
the  norms  concerned  are  problems  our  age  together  with  every 
other  age  must  solve  for  itself. 

The  ideal  toward  which  society  moves  with  blundering  steps 
is  one  in  which  all  the  members  of  a  given  stage  of  the  social 
process  shall  set  themselves  the  common  task  of  adjusting 
intelligently  their  differences  in  terms  of  clearly  denned 
authoritative  ethical  norms.  It  is  hardly  conceivable  that  the 
social  conscience  should  ever  be  brought  under  rational  control 
and  direction  to  the  same  extent  that  this  is  possible  in  the  case 
of  the  individual  conscience.  But  we  may  hope  for  a  far  closer 
approximation  to  the  purposefulness  and  continuity  of  the  indi- 
vidual conscience  than  now  exists.  And  of  this  we  may  be  sure, 
in  that  direction  alone  lies  society's  hope  for  social  peace,  the 
elimination  of  friction  and  the  stoppage  of  the  incontinent 
waste  of  human  values. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Continued) 

§  i.   THE  ROLE  OF  IDEAS  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

DICEY  describes  the  content  of  the  social  conscience  as  "  a 
body  of  beliefs,  convictions,  sentiments,  accepted  principles,  or 
firmly-rooted  prejudices,  which,  taken  together,  make  up  the 
public  opinion  of  a  particular  era,  or  what  we  may  call  the 
reigning  or  predominant  current  of  opinion  ".  This  diversity 
is  more  apparent  than  real,  for  upon  examination  we  find  that 
this  complex  content  is  knit  together  by  an  ideational  frame- 
work of  maxims,  principles,  uncritical  generalizations  drawn 
from  every  sphere  of  experience,  religious,  economic,  political, 
or  social.  A  strong  emotional  tone  inseparable  from  social 
habits  also  serves  to  cement  illogical  and  heterogeneous  bodies 
of  ideas  into  the  persistent  and  powerful  systems  of  sentiment 
that  orient  the  individual  on  the  great  practical  issues  of  life. 

The  ideational  element  in  the  social  conscience  is  composed 
usually  of  those  generalizations  that  enter  into  the  popular 
moral  philosophy  of  an  age  or  group.  Rarely  are  they  logically 
coherent.  They  are  merely  the  general  assumptions  or  prin- 
ciples that  everyone  recognizes  and  follows.  The  social  con- 
science is  a  sort  of  informal  Weltanschauung  of  an  era.  It  is 
the  moral  world-view  of  the  average  man.  It  may  include 
popular  theories  as  to  nature,  society,  trade,  the  state  or  re- 
ligion. Fundamental  in  the  social  conscience  of  the  man  of  the 
middle  ages,  for  example,  were  the  assumptions  as  to  the 
authority  of  the  church,  the  divine  right  of  kings,  the  geo-cen- 
tric  astronomy,  and  the  unquestioned  acceptance  of  miracles, 
witches,  and  devils.  Any  or  all  of  these  might  under  certain 
conditions  affect  the  deliverances  of  the  mediaeval  conscience 
upon  moral  issues.  Tens  of  thousands  of  innocent  victims 
were  burned  at  the  stake  with  the  sanction  of  institutionalized 

129 


130  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cont.) 

Christianity  and  treated  as  the  very  moral  offscourings  of  the 
earth  because  of  cruel  and  superstitious  beliefs  embodied  in 
the  social  conscience. 

Even  in  modern  times  the  purely  abstract  and  theoretical 
issues  raised  by  the  advances  of  science  often  take  on  for 
the  orthodox  soul  an  intensely  ethical  tone.  To  apply  evo- 
lution or  the  methods  of  scientific  criticism  to  the  Bible 
appears  to  many  good  people  essentially  immoral.  Un- 
doubtedly one  serious  hindrance  to  the  passage  and  enforce- 
ment of  scientifically  framed  laws  on  eugenics  or  the  investi- 
gation of  such  matters  as  birth-control  is  found  in  the  serious 
offense  given  to  the  moral  sensibilities  of  the  average  man. 
Thus  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  prevailing  systems  of  moral 
sentiments  may  defeat  a  law  that  is  wise  and  scientific  and 
necessary  to  social  progress.  The  verdict  of  the  social  con- 
science, even  though  based  on  prejudice  or  ignorance,  is 
final. 

Superficially  considered,  this  arbitrary  and  uncritical  ap- 
plication of  the  assumptions  of  the  social  conscience  to  issues  as 
they  arise  appears  irrational,  often  cruel  and  unjust.  An  exam- 
ination of  this  apparent  irrationality,  however,  will  give  us  a 
deeper  insight  into  the  nature  and  function  of  the  social  con- 
science itself.  The  social  conscience,  as  we  have  seen,  owes  its 
existence  primarily  neither  to  logic  nor  to  science  but  rather 
to  the  practical  needs  of  the  community  for  a  continuous  and 
well-balanced  communal  life.  Hence  the  value  of  general  prin- 
ciples that  happen  to  become  embodied  in  the  social  conscience 
is  judged  in  terms  of  the  extent  to  which  they  further,  or  are 
thought  to  further,  the  existing  order  of  things.  These  general 
principles  were  once  taken  up  into  the  social  conscience  just 
because  they  happened  to  be  of  value  in  solving  the  problem  of 
group  adjustment  and  not  because  of  their  absolute  or  inherent 
worth.  No  creed  or  political  platform  is  drawn  up  primarily 
with  a  regard  to  logic  or  the  scientifically  tested  principles  of 
religion,  economics,  or  politics.  Hence,  the  sheer  accumula- 
tions of  social  inertia,  the  uncalculated  and  unexpected  stresses 
and  strains  of  an  evolving  social  process,  catch  and  embody  in 


THE  ROLE  OF  IDEAS  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE     131 

the  structure  of  the  social  conscience  much  that  appears  only 
flotsam  and  jetsam,  gathered  helter-skelter  from  earlier  stages 
of  development.  But  the  actual  attainment  of  social  equili- 
brium at  a  given  stage  of  evolution  seems  to  justify  the  pres- 
ence and  the  value  of  all  the  constituent  elements  of  the  social 
conscience  just  because  they,  like  the  stones  in  an  arch,  ap- 
parently contribute  to  the  existing  balance  of  social  forces. 

The  test  of  the  validity  of  the  geo-centric  astronomy  for 
the  man  of  Galileo's  day  was  found  not  in  the  scientific  prin- 
ciples concerned  but  in  the  intimate  and  organic  connection  of 
this  astronomy  with  the  life  and  thought  of  the  mediaeval  man. 
It  provided  the  cosmic  setting  for  that  noble  epitome  of  the 
thought  of  the  middle  ages,  the  Summa  Theologiae  of  Aquinas; 
it  furnished  the  astronomical  symbols  for  the  superb  flights  of 
the  poetic  imagination  of  Dante;  it  served  to  orient  the  move- 
ments of  God,  angels,  men,  or  devils  on  earth,  in  heaven  or  in 
hell;  it  was  presupposed  in  the  great  redemptive  scheme  that 
included  the  entire  sweep  of  nature  from  the  dewdrop  to  the 
remotest  star;  it  was  carved  in  the  enduring  stone  of  the  Gothic 
cathedral;  it  was  portrayed  in  the  gorgeous  stained  glass 
windows  or  painted  on  altar  pieces;  it  rendered  articulate 
every  word  and  gesture  and  thought  of  daily  life;  to  challenge 
it  was  to  threaten  chaos  to  that  close-knit  system  of  social, 
ethical  and  religious  norms  that  hedged  about  the  life  of  the 
man  of  the  middle  ages.  It  meant,  in  a  word,  to  destroy  the 
social  equilibrium  that  had  been  the  slow  and  patient  creation 
of  centuries  of  human  effort.  In  a  sense  Galileo  had  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin  for  he  threatened  to  disintegrate 
that  unity  of  thought  and  experience  without  which  every  form 
and  semblance  of  morality  was  impossible. 

In  modern  times  we  have  more  and  more  divorced  the  con- 
tent of  the  social  conscience  from  the  tenets  of  theology  or  the 
conclusions  of  exact  science.  But  when  a  principle  of  eco- 
nomics or  politics  or  religion  becomes  firmly  embodied  in  the 
social  conscience  of  a  group  or  of  an  era  and  comes  to  play  a 
part  real  or  imagined  in  the  preservation  of  the  status  quo  it 
invariably  takes  on  an  ethical  tinge.  The  doctrine  of  states' 


i32  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cont.) 

rights  abstractly  considered  is  a  matter  of  political  philosophy 
rather  than  of  ethics.  When,  however,  in  the  course  of  time  it 
became  an  integral  part  of  the  mass  of  moral  sentiments  that 
gradually  arose  in  connection  with  the  "  peculiar  institution  " 
of  the  South  its  significance  became  primarily  ethical.  For  the 
abstract  principle  of  state  sovereignty  had  taken  its  place  as 
a  constituent  norm  in  that  form  of  social  conscience  necessary 
to  the  perpetuation  of  the  type  of  group  organization  repre- 
sented by  the  slavocracy  of  the  South.  Much  in  the  same  way 
the  tariff  issue,  which  in  reality  is  purely  a  theoretical  problem 
of  economics  and  is  so  treated  in  other  nations,  has  taken  on  for 
the  average  American  a  certain  moral  character.  The  inten- 
sive organization  of  economic  and  social  interests  of  certain 
sections  around  the  dogmas  of  high  protection  has  transformed 
the  economic  principle  of  protection  into  something  very  like 
an  ethical  norm. 

A  practical  inference  from  the  foregoing  discussion  is  that 
as  society  becomes  more  complicated,  more  richly  freighted 
with  human  values,  we  cannot  leave  the  organization  of  the 
social  conscience  to  the  haphazard  forces  of  the  social  process. 
The  fulfilment  of  the  moral  ideal  and  the  attainment  of  the 
most  progressive  and  efficient  type  of  society  involves  first 
and  foremost  the  intelligent  organization  of  the  social  con- 
science and  secondly  the  ability  to  apply  moral  principles  con- 
sciously and  efficiently  to  the  issues  as  they  arise.  The  great 
principles  of  democracy,  of  social  justice,  of  scientific  truth,  of 
religious  inspiration,  or  of  aesthetic  charm  must  be  incorpo- 
rated in  the  social  sentiment  of  the  future.  Means  must  be 
devised  for  making  these  things  part  of  the  deeper  life  of  the 
individual.  There  must  be  first  a  process  of  social  education 
and  discipline  through  the  institutional  setting,  and  secondly 
training  in  self-expression  and  initiative.  The  two  cannot  be 
separated.  For  we  shall  find  that  the  problem  of  disciplining 
the  social  conscience  is  inseparable  from  the  problem  of  secur- 
ing effective  means  for  its  expression.  The  group  or  the  indi- 
vidual whose  powers  of  self-expression  have  been  starved  and 
neglected  will  in  time  develop  indifference  toward  public  ques- 


SOME  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE        133 

tions.     It  is  but  a  step  from  indifference  to  atrophy  and 
impotence  of  the  social  will. 

The  problem  of  enlightening  and  disciplining  the  social 
conscience  is  a  slow  one.  It  is  not  to  be  confused  with  the 
comparatively  easy  task  of  informing  and  guiding  public  opin- 
ion upon  some  issue  of  passing  interest  and  importance.  Only 
by  a  very  gradual  process  does  an  idea  become  part  and  parcel 
of  the  moral  sentiments  of  the  masses  and  that  through 
processes  in  which  conscious  reflection  plays  a  relatively  small 
part.  A  principle  becomes  embedded  in  the  social  conscience 
only  through  a  long  process  of  suggestion  and  imitation, 
through  the  disciplinary  effect  of  social  institutions  and  a  way 
of  life.  The  enthusiasm  that  stirred  millions  of  American 
hearts  in  the  great  crusade  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democ- 
racy was  not  born  over  night,  the  creature  of  a  world-war  of 
unparalleled  cruelty  and  atrocity.  It  is  but  the  expression  of 
habits  of  thought,  organizations  of  sentiments  that  presuppose 
generations  of  contact  with  free  democratic  institutions.  The 
great  loyalties  of  a  people  are  a  slow  growth,  like  the  oak  of 
the  forest,  but  they  are  our  refuge  when  the  storm  breaks. 

§  2.   SOME  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

What  are  the  problems  of  the  social  conscience  due  to  the 
peculiarities  of  our  modern  American  life?  There  is  no  doubt 
that  much  of  the  impotence  and  sluggishness  of  the  social  con- 
science that  we  find  so  discouraging  arises  out  of  inherent  and 
inescapable  difficulties  in  the  social  situation.  There  is  in 
society  no  transcendental  "  enigmatical  self ",  that  presides, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  individual,  over  all  the  various  systems  of 
sentiment,  criticizes  and  evaluates  them,  and  elects  between  the 
various  ends  they  propose.  What  we  have  is  rather  individuals 
and  groups  of  individuals  with  strongly  organized  sentiments. 
Social  action  is  usually  the  resultant  of  the  more  or  less  con- 
flicting ends  sought  by  individuals  and  groups.  The  social  will, 
therefore,  can  never  be  as  effective  as  the  individual  will,  since 
no  group  or  social  order  is  ever  a  unit  in  the  sense  that  the 
individual  is.  Two  things,  then,  stand  in  the  way  of  an  efficient 


134  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cont.) 

social  conscience,  the  diversity  of  individuals  and  groups  owing 
to  different  social  disciplines,  and  the  lack  of  any  comprehen- 
sive social  institution  that  will  dominate  all  other  institutions 
and  insure  unity  of  sentiments  and  an  effective  social  will.  The 
social  conscience  apparently  is  something  that  must  be  created 
over  and  above  other  loyalties  and  often  in  opposition  to  them 
in  the  interest  of  the  social  welfare. 

This  inherent  difficulty  arising  out  of  the  nature  of  the 
social  situation  is  increased  by  the  growing  complexity  of 
our  modern  life.  The  "  mental  pattern  "  of  the  sentiments 
of  the  average  American  is  by  no  means  as  simple  as  that 
of  the  savage  or  even  of  the  Americans  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  unparalleled  diversification  of  human  life  and 
the  endless  multiplication  of  the  forms  of  social  organization 
are  registered  in  the  structure  of  the  sentiments  of  the  in- 
dividual. Hence  we  no  longer  have  those  broad  institutional 
points  of  view  due  to  church  or  party  so  familiar  in  the  past. 
These  persist,  to  be  sure,  but  they  are  rivalled  by  countless 
other  forms  of  social  activities  which  tend  to  divide  the  loyal- 
ties of  the  individual.  The  problem  so  far  as  efficient  social 
action  is  concerned  is  to  secure  some  sort  of  unification  of  all 
these  loyalties  so  that  the  community  can  depend  upon  the 
moral  support  of  the  individual  in  its  efforts  to  solve  its  preb- 
lems.  The  moral  uncertainty  noted  in  an  earlier  chapter  is 
to  be  traced  largely  to  this  confusing  and  dissipating  effect  of 
our  complex  and  inchoate  society.  The  very  vigor  and  self- 
assertiveness  of  individual  men  or  institutions  are  often  a 
menace  to  the  larger  sense  of  social  and  national  solidarity  and 
destroy  the  community's  sense  of  the  relation  of  values. 

It  is  possible  to  note  several  hopeful  tendencies  shaping  the 
social  conscience  to-day.  Foremost  among  these  is  the  increas- 
ing refinement  of  the  moral  sensibilities.  It  is  a  curious  and 
interesting  fact  that  the  higher  sensibilities  of  men  have  not  ad- 
vanced at  an  even  pace.  One  has  only  to  read  Benevenuto 
Cellini's  autobiography  to  see  how  in  the  men  of  the  Renais- 
sance the  most  delicate  and  refined  aesthetic  sensibilities  could 
dwell  side  by  side  with  cruelty  and  vindictiveness  and  a  sin- 


SOME  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE       135 

gular  obtuseness  as  to  the  fundamentals  of  morality.  John 
Locke,  the  author  of  the  treatises  on  government  from  which 
Jefferson  and  the  framers  of  the  Constitution  drew  their  lofty 
ideas  as  to  the  inalienable  rights  of  men  to  life  and  liberty,  also 
framed  a  constitution  for  the  province  of  Carolina  in  which  he 
expressly  sanctions  the  institution  of  slavery.  John  Calvin  did 
not  find  his  devotion  to  a  sovereign  God,  the  essence  of  whose 
nature  is  love,  incompatible  with  the  odium  theologicum  that 
led  him  to  permit  the  burning  of  the  Spanish  scholar  Servetus 
because  he  denied  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  It  would  seem 
indeed  that  the  ethical  sentiments  are  the  last  to  reach  a  stage 
of  refinement  commensurate  with  that  already  attained  in  art 
and  religion. 

Since  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  however,  the  refine- 
ment of  the  social  conscience  has  progressed  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  a  friend 
wrote  John  Winthrop,  "  A  war  with  the  Narragansetts  is  very 
considerable  to  this  plantation,  for  I  doubt  whether  it  be  not 
sin  in  us,  having  power  in  our  hands,  to  suffer  them  to  maintain 
the  worship  of  the  devil,  which  their  pow-wows  often  do; 
secondly,  if  upon  a  just  war  the  Lord  should  deliver  them  into 
our  hands,  we  might  easily  have  men,  women,  and  children 
enough  to  exchange  for  Moors  (Negroes?)  which  will  be  more 
gainful  pillage  for  us  than  we  conceive,  for  I  do  not  see  how 
we  can  thrive  until  we  get  into  a  flock  of  slaves  sufficient  to  do 
all  our  business,  for  our  children's  children  will  hardly  see 
this  great  continent  filled  with  people,  so  that  our  servants  will 
still  desire  freedom  to  plant  for  themselves  and  not  stay  for  the 
very  great  wages.  And  I  suppose  you  know  very  well  how  we 
shall  maintain  twenty  Moors  cheaper  than  one  English  serv- 
ant." x  Contrast  this  curious  mixture  of  religious  bigotry 
and  Yankee  shrewdness  with  the  lofty  idealism  aroused  in  New 
England  just  two  centuries  later  by  the  abolition  movement. 
There  is  no  more  interesting  evidence  of  the  growth  of  an 
humanitarian  ethic  in  modern  England  than  the  social  legisla- 
tion that  has  been  enacted  during  the  last  few  decades. 

1  Moore,  History  of  Slavery  in  Massachusetts,  p.  10. 


i36  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cont.) 

Similar  legislation  in  this  country,  the  most  noteworthy  per- 
haps in  connection  with  child  labor,  indicates  a  like  increased 
refinement  and  sensitiveness  of  the  social  conscience. 

The  increased  secularization  of  the  social  conscience  is 
another  evidence  of  advance.  The  time  was  when  the  social 
conscience,  especially  at  its  highest  levels,  was  formulated 
almost  entirely  in  terms  of  religious  dogmas.  Religion  to-day 
still  furnishes  for  many  men  the  ultimate  sanctions  through 
which  they  seek  to  justify  their  efforts  after  social  justice.  But 
this  group  is  in  the  minority.  As  a  rule,  the  initiative  in  moves 
for  social  reform  or  civic  betterment  has  passed  from  the  hands 
of  institutionalized  Christianity.  The  great  mass  of  moral 
sentiment  that  must  be  appealed  to  when  paramount  issues 
arise  in  the  community  is  essentially  secular  rather  than  re- 
ligious. We  are  not  concerned  here  to  examine  the  forces  that 
have  brought  about  this  shifting  of  the  moral  center  of  gravity 
from  the  church  to  the  community.  The  change  was  necessary 
for  the  liberation  of  the  social  conscience.  It  had  to  be  emanci- 
pated from  an  institution  that  was  becoming  more  and  more 
departmental  in  the  social  order.  It  is  well  to  bear  in  mind, 
however,  that  the  modern  secularized  ethic  is  not  necessarily 
opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  Christian  ethic.  Many  of  the  ideals 
that  inspire  the  modern  socially-minded  man  have  been  ab- 
sorbed directly  or  indirectly  from  the  Christian  ethic.  The 
Christian  ethic  only  seems  to  be  superseded  because  its  ele- 
ments of  enduring  worth  have  become  the  commonplaces  of  our 
modern  ethic.  Whatever  alienation  between  church  and 
society  has  arisen  is  due  to  the  ever-widening  gap  between 
the  socialized  and  secularized  modern  conscience  and  the  nar- 
row traditional  ethic  that  arose  in  the  past  and  persists 
unchanged  behind  the  sheltering  walls  of  ecclesiasticism. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  phase  of  the  modern  social  con- 
science is  the  struggle  between  the  individual  and  the  social 
point  of  view.  We  have  to  do  here  not  with  two  fundamentally 
antagonistic  factors  but  rather  with  the  question  of  emphasis. 
The  dominant  individualistic  ethic  of  the  past  meant  simply 
the  organization  of  the  moral  sentiments  in  a  social  setting 


SOME  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE        137 

which  laid  the  chief  emphasis  upon  the  rights  of  the  individual 
and  his  powers  of  initiative.  But  even  the  most  rampant 
laissez  jaire  ethic  presupposes  social  institutions,  social  con- 
tacts, and  the  molding  influence  of  a  social  process  without 
which  morals  would  be  impossible.  The  evils  of  individualism 
do  not  arise  from  an  inherent  antagonism  between  the  indi- 
vidual and  society.  They  are  due  to  the  over-emphasis  of  one 
phase  of  a  totality  which  we  can  only  separate  into  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  social  in  thought. 

The  present  distraught  state  of  the  social  conscience  is 
largely  due  to  the  conflict  between  the  "  set "  given  to  the 
sentiments  of  man  by  the  individualism  ingrained  in  our  tradi- 
tions and  institutions  and  the  newer  ethic  born  of  a  sense  of 
the  solidarity  and  mutuality  of  human  interests.  This  clash  is 
seen  in  the  sphere  of  political  ethics  where  the  champions  of  a 
socialized  democracy  are  arrayed  against  the  old,  law-made, 
individualistic  democracy  of  the  courts  and  the  Constitution. 
It  is  exhibited  in  the  jealous  cry  of  business  individualism  to 
the  government  investigator,  "  Let  us  alone  ".  It  has  even 
emerged  in  outworn  religious  form  in  the  revivalist's  emphasis 
upon  individual  salvation.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that 
there  is  a  spiritual  kinship  between  the  reign  of  evangeli- 
calism in  England  the  early  part  of  last  century  and  the 
economic  and  political  individualism  of  Bentham  and  his 
followers.1  We  have  a  modern  recrudescence  of  individual- 
istic evangelicalism  in  this  country  in  Rev.  W.  A.  Sunday, 
who  draws  his  crowds  for  the  most  part  from  the  conventional- 
ized middle  class  where  the  old  individualistic  traditions  have 
offered  the  most  stubborn  resistance  to  the  social  point  of  view. 

So  far  as  we  can  anticipate  the  present  drift  of  social  senti- 
ment the  tendency  is  to  reevaluate  the  individual  in  terms  of  a 
growing  sense  of  the  interdependence  of  a  closely  knit  social 
order.  This  transformation  of  our  conception  of  the  individual 
bids  fair  in  the  end  to  affect  fundamental  concepts  such  as 
democracy,  property,  and  the  like.  Men  are  beginning  to 
realize  that  rights  are  not  absolute  or  arbitrary,  indefeasible 

1  Dicey,  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England,  p.  399. 


138  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cent.) 

God-given  franchises  of  the  individual,  but  are  immediately 
dependent  upon  the  place  and  function  of  the  individual  in  the 
community.  Justice  is  not  a  matter  of  superinducing  upon  a 
changing  social  process  inflexible  legal  forms  that  are  supposed 
to  be  the  final  formulations  of  unalterable  rights.  Justice  is  the 
very  real  and  human  problem  of  evaluating,  utilizing,  and 
rewarding  capacities  and  services  in  terms  of  a  common  good. 
Democracy  is  ceasing  to  be  a  struggle  to  realize  an  impossible 
egalitarianism.  It  is  becoming  more  and  more  the  application 
of  the  principle  of  equality  of  opportunity  in  order  thereby  to 
select  out  the  socially  valuable  individuals  and  assign  them  to 
positions  of  responsibility  and  power.  Equality  has  ceased  to 
be  the  goal  of  democracy  and  has  become  a  means  to  an  end; 
it  is  society's  necessary  instrument  for  assuring  to  itself  that 
inevitable  individual  inequalities  shall  serve  the  good  of  all  and 
further  a  dynamic  and  progressive  society. 

Most  encouraging  of  all  perhaps  in  its  bearing  upon  the 
problems  of  the  future  is  the  growing  sense  of  social  self-con- 
sciousness. We  may  distinguish  at  least  three  levels  in  the 
social  mind.  We  may  use  that  term  in  the  broadest  sense  as 
including  all  the  thoughts,  feelings,  or  sentiments  of  all  the 
members  of  the  community,  that  is  all  those  mental  possessions 
which  have  been  or  may  become  the  property  of  any  member 
of  the  community.  In  a  narrower  sense  the  social  mind  might 
refer  only  to  those  ideas  that  are  shared  by  all  and  which  are 
known  to  be  shared  by  all.  This  is  illustrated  in  that  stage  of 
public  opinion  where  men  are  discussing  public  issues  and  are 
at  the  same  time  aware  that  all  the  other  members  of  the  com- 
munity are  thinking  of  the  same  thing.  There  is  finally  the 
dynamic  stage  of  the  social  mind  when  these  ideas  shared  in 
common  are  made  the  basis  of  communal  action  at  the  polls  or 
elsewhere.  It  is  evident  that  the  larger  the  mental  content 
which  all  the  members  of  the  community  consciously  share,  the 
greater  is  the  social  self -consciousness  and  the  better  equipped 
is  the  community  for  dealing  with  its  problems.  For  conscious- 
ness in  all  forms,  individual  or  social,  is  an  instrument  for 
controlling  the  life  process  and  adjusting  the  organism  to  its 


139 

environment.  The  growth  of  social  self-consciousness  means, 
therefore,  increase  of  the  community's  power  to  control  the 
course  of  its  development. 

With  the  growth  of  social  self-consciousness  inevitably  the 
community  will  bring  to  bear  upon  its  problems  in  a  much 
more  intelligent  and  comprehensive  fashion  the  mature  moral 
sense  embodied  in  the  social  conscience.  Instead  of  confining 
the  play  of  the  moral  judgment  to  individual  or  group  interests 
men  will  come  to  include  the  larger  problems  of  society.  This 
will  involve,  on  the  one  hand,  an  increasing  sensitiveness  to  the 
fact  that  certain  general  moral  convictions  are  shared  by  all 
and  are  felt  to  be  of  vital  importance  for  all,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  enlargement  of  the  classes  of  objects  to  which  these 
common  ethical  principles  of  social  righteousness  are  applied. 
For  the  problem  of  securing  an  effective  social  conscience  is  not 
so  much  a  matter  of  creating  entirely  new  ethical  categories 
wherewith  to  solve  the  issues  of  a  new  social  order  as  it  is 
the  problem  of  expanding  and  socializing  the  ethical  content  of 
previous  social  experience.  In  an  enlightened  and  progressive 
community  the  intellect  plays  over  the  various  social  issues  and, 
on  the  basis  of  a  keen  appreciation  of  their  relations  to  social 
welfare,  arrives  at  a  moral  evaluation  of  them  through  the  ap- 
plication of  tested  moral  experience  of  the  past. 

Finally,  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  recent 
world  struggle  will  add  to  the  social  conscience  of  the  future 
the  international  or  cosmopolitan  note.  The  age  of  the  world 
has  at  last  arrived  when  it  is  not  only  possible  but  imperatively 
necessary  that  we  should  embody  in  the  moral  sentiments  of 
the  humblest  citizen  the  old  Stoic  dictum:  Homo  sum,  humani 
nihil  a  me  alienum  puto.  For  this  great  ideal  is  now  no  more 
a  matter  of  sentimental  humanitarianism  but  of  immediate  and 
practical  statecraft.  The  social  consciences  of  the  nations  must 
be  reorganized  in  terms  of  the  common  interests  and  ideals  of 
a  family  of  nations  before  we  can  hope  to  realize  Kant's  dream 
of  "  perpetual  peace  ".  The  new  internationalism  of  the  future 
must  be  based  upon  the  organization  of  the  sentiments  of  the 
private  citizen. 


140  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cent.) 

§  3.   TYPES  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

What  should  be  the  ideal  form  of  the  social  conscience  in 
a  democracy?  It  is  possible  to  distinguish  types  of  social  con- 
sciences just  as  we  distinguish  types  of  character.  The  strong 
character  is  the  result  of  strong  and  thoroughly  organized  senti- 
ments. Sometimes  one  sentiment  dominates  all  the  others  and 
becomes  the  "  master  passion  "  in  the  individual's  life.  These 
furnish  favorite  types  for  the  literary  artists,  illustrations  of 
which  are  the  sentiment  of  ambition  in  Cardinal  Woolsey  or  of 
avarice  in  Balzac's  Eugenie  Grandet.  Strength  of  will  is  a 
matter  of  the  strength  of  the  sentiments.  "  In  the  sentiments 
alone  are  resolutions  formed,  and  choice  manifested  between 
their  sometimes  conflicting  ends;  they  only  give  the  will  to  con- 
trol emotion,  and  to  be  steadfast  unto  the  end.  Strength  or 
weakness  of  will,  other  things  equal,  varies  with  the  strength  or 
weakness  of  the  emotion  or  sentiment  to  which  it  belongs;  and 
hence  it  is  that  we  find  the  same  man  strong  in  some  directions 
and  weak  in  others  .  .  .  every  strong  sentiment  has  a  tend- 
ency to  develop  a  strong  will  in  its  support."  * 

Social  groups  and  even  nations  illustrate  similar  traits  of 
unity  and  forcefulness  owing  to  the  disciplinary  effect  upon  the 
average  man  of  some  dominant  phases  of  public  sentiment. 
The  solidarity  of  sentiment  created  by  the  slave-owning  South 
owing  to  the  disciplinary  effect  of  her  "  peculiar  institution  " 
created  a  unity  and  effectiveness  of  the  social  will  which 
enabled  that  section  to  maintain  a  position  of  power  in  the 
nation  far  beyond  its  real  importance.  The  presence  for  half  a 
century  of  millions  of  emancipated  negroes  in  the  same  section 
has  brought  about  another  unification  of  sentiment  in  the  white 
group  in  the  "  color  line."  All  issues,  political,  educational, 
moral,  or  religious  that  fail  to  harmonize  with  the  demands  of 
this  powerful  system  of  sentiments  are  rejected.  The  unity  of 
national  will  that  has  made  Germany  such  a  formidable  antago- 
nist in  the  war  just  ended  is  due  primarily  to  the  complete  unity 
of  sentiment  which,  thanks  to  Prussian  statecraft,  was  secured 

1  Shaiid,  Foundations  of  Character,  p.  65. 


TYPES  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  141 

through  the  identification  of  the  sentiment  of  patriotism  with 
the  ambitions  of  an  unscrupulous  military  beaurocracy. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  that  a  fruitful  source  of  weakness 
in  individual  characters  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  lower  sys- 
tems of  emotions  emancipate  themselves  from  the  higher  sys- 
tems of  the  sentiments  and  assume  control.  This  is  especially 
true  in  the  case  of  persons  of  hysterical  temperament.  We  have 
here  in  reality  a  partial  disintegration  of  personality.  Lower, 
imperfect,  and  irrational  selves  usurp  the  role  of  the  true  self. 
Something  very  similar  to  this  often  takes  place  in  American 
society  and  it  is  always  an  indication  of  moral  immaturity  due 
to  the  absence  of  an  intelligent  and  highly-organized  social 
conscience.  "  There  are  many  lines  of  evidence  which  con- 
verge in  proof  that  we  are  still  an  emotional  people.  We  are 
an  empire  with  varying  measures  of  economic  and  social  devel- 
opment in  the  different  parts.  We  are  civilized  and  barbarous 
at  the  same  time.  We  have  millions  of  primitive  black  men  and 
more  millions  of  primitive  white  men,  both  native  and  foreign 
born.  We  have  Kentucky  and  Kansas  and  Colorado,  and 
then  we  have  Massachusetts.  But  not  to  speak  of  the  contra- 
dictions of  localities,  there  are  not  wanting  indications  that  the 
mental  mode  of  our  entire  population  is  still  emotional.  The 
churches  in  which  feeling,  belief,  and  authority  are  dominant 
have  by  far  the  largest  membership.  The  '  solid '  South  as 
well  as  certain  '  solid '  portions  of  the  North  bear  eloquent 
testimony  to  the  reign  of  prejudice  instead  of  independent 
thought  in  politics.  The  feuds  in  the  Southern  mountains,  the 
lynchings  of  black  men  and  white  on  both  sides  of  Mason  and 
Dixon's  line,  the  mob  spirit  in  industry,  attest  the  rule  of  im- 
pulsive social  action  over  great  numbers  of  men."  1 

This  large  amount  of  undisciplined  emotion  in  American 
life  has  been  a  fruitful  source  of  moral  laxity.  We  may  dis- 
tinguish two  types  of  this  unregulated  emotionalism.  In  mob 
violence  we  have  as  a  usual  thing  the  temporary  usurpation  of 
the  role  of  the  social  conscience  by  lower  irrational  and  highly- 
emotional  systems  of  feeling.  There  is  evidence  to  support 

1 F.  M.  Davenport,  Primitive  Traits  in  Religious  Revivals,  pp.  299  f . 


142  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Cont.) 

the  contention  that  in  certain  sections  of  the  country  social 
habits  have  been  developed  through  the  constant  yielding 
to  these  lower  anti-social  systems  of  instinctive  feeling, 
especially  in  the  case  of  lynching  and  mob  violence.  Daven- 
port calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  three  adjacent  counties 
of  Kentucky,  Logan,  Simpson,  and  Todd,  which  contain  one- 
fortieth  of  the  total  population  of  the  state  and  one-sixth  of  the 
lynchings  during  the  last  twenty  years,  are  also  the  counties  in 
which  the  wildest  emotional  excesses  occurred  during  the 
famous  religious  revivals  of  1800.  During  the  early  part  of 
the  last  century  these  counties  were  the  scene  of  fierce  and 
bloody  feuds.  Here  we  have  a  striking  evidence  in  this  coarser 
type  of  emotionalism  of  the  lack  of  a  mature  and  self-controlled 
moral  sentiment.  There  is  no  more  painful  evidence  of  the 
lack  of  a  sensitive  social  conscience  than  the  fact  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  secure  the  conviction  of  the  lyncher 
in  those  sections  where  lynching  has  become  a  social 
habit. 

Another  illustration  of  the  moral  immaturity  of  the  social 
conscience  and  of  its  lack  of  poise  is  found  in  fanaticism.  The 
lack  of  moral  balance  in  the  fanatic  is  not  due,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  exponent  of  the  lynch-law,  to  a  surrender  to  the  lower, 
irrational  emotional  system.  More  than  often  the  fanatic 
orients  his  moral  loyalties  around  ideas  that  are  abstract,  un- 
real, sometimes  extravagant,  and  fantastic.  His  lack  of  moral 
balance  is  due  to  his  moral  hyper-sensitiveness.  "  Fanaticism 
frequently  originates  in  acuteness  of  the  moral  sensibilities. 
Many,  with  or  without  hyper-suggestibility,  seem  too  sensitive 
to  endure  contact  with  human  life;  to  them  are  abhorrent  the 
follies,  sins,  vices,  and  crimes  which  co-exist  with  the  highest 
civilization  yet  attained.  They  have  an  almost  irresistible 
tendency  to  make  their  own  consciences  the  test  of  the  sin- 
cerity and  honesty  of  others.  When  the  darkest  side  of  social 
and  political  life  is  suddenly  revealed  to  one  of  these  acutely 
sensitive  spirits,  educated  in  the  bosom  of  virtue  and  refine- 
ment, it  may  transform  him  into  a  misanthrope  or  arouse  him 
to  a  conflict  with  evil,  soon  to  become  the  most  rampant 


TYPES  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  143 

fanaticism."  *  Puritanism  has  provided  us  with  some  excellent 
illustrations  of  religious  fanaticism  while  the  classic  illustra- 
tion of  the  political  and  social  fanatic  is  John  Brown,  the  hero 
of  Harper's  Ferry. 

The  very  idealism  of  our  American  life  has  made  it  possible 
to  breed  the  fanatic.  Carlyle  has  remarked,  "  A  man  once  com- 
mitted headlong  to  republican  or  any  other  transcendentalism, 
and  fighting  and  fanaticizing  amid  a  nation  of  his  like,  becomes 
as  it  were  enveloped  in  an  ambient  atmosphere  of  transcenden- 
talism and  delirium  ".  This  was  written  of  the  excesses  of  the 
French  Revolution  but  it  describes  in  extreme  form  the  menace 
that  is  always  associated  with  devotion  to  lofty  and  inspiring 
and  yet  ill-defined  loyalties.  The  fanatic  is  a  protest  against 
the  failure  of  the  social  conscience  to  seize  on  these  lofty  spiri- 
tual values  and  make  them  real  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women. 
He  needs  the  discipline  of  an  effective  social  conscience  hardly 
less  than  the  moral  Philistine  he  condemns,  for  he  lacks  the 
moral  balance  and  the  sobering  sense  of  reality  that  only  an 
efficient  social  conscience  can  give  him. 

We  should  expect,  then,  the  most  socially  valuable  type 
of  individual  as  well  as  of  society  where  we  have  a  well- 
balanced  system  of  sentiments.  In  the  balanced  character, 
which  was  the  ancient  Greek  ideal,  we  have  an  organization 
of  instincts,  emotions  and  sentiments  without  any  over- 
exaggeration  of  any  one  element.  Unity  of  personality  is 
achieved  through  the  harmony  of  strong  and  well-developed 
tendencies  which  hold  each  other  in  check.  No  one  human 
capacity  is  atrophied  in  the  interest  of  another.  This  equilibra- 
tion of  powers  in  an  individual  varies  indefinitely  according  to 
the  individual.  We  may  find  it  in  the  conventional  average 
man  who  eats,  drinks,  sleeps,  goes  to  his  office,  and  spends  an 
evening  with  friends,  preserving  always  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way.  We  may  find  it  in  the  genius.  Each  ability,  whether  of 
the  genius  or  of  the  man  of  mediocrity,  finds  its  place  in  an 
equilibrated  whole,  just  as  each  must  find  his  place  in  a  social 

1  James  M.  Buckley,  "  Fanaticism  in  the  United  States,"  The  Century, 
Dec.,  1903,  p.  197. 


144  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  (Con*.) 

order  that  expresses  in  its  balanced  system  of  group  and  indi- 
vidual wills  the  larger  social  phase  of  what  is  illustrated  in  the 
individual. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  for  the  thesis  that  the  ideal  society 
is  one  in  which  we  have  a  real  and  intelligent  and  yet  dynamic 
unity  due  to  the  balance  between  various  group  interests.  The 
ideal  social  conscience  would  be  that  organization  of  public 
sentiment  which  gives  most  effective  expression  to  the  rights  of 
these  contending  interests.  The  ideal  social  conscience,  like  the 
ideal  work  of  art,  must  illustrate,  therefore,  the  principle  of 
unity  in  the  midst  of  diversity.  Social  equilibrium,  in  so  far 
as  it  can  be  asserted  at  all,  is  the  conscious  creation  of  the 
moral  sentiments  of  the  community.  A  balanced  and  healthful 
social  life  depends  directly  upon  the  constant  alertness  of  this 
mass  of  enlightened  public  sentiment.  Where  a  balance  of 
contending  forces  takes  place  without  the  guidance  of  the  self- 
conscious  social  will  it  must  be  reckoned  as  the  accidental  prod- 
uct of  irrational  forces  beyond  the  control  of  man.  The  prob- 
lem of  the  social  conscience,  therefore,  is  ultimately  the 
problem  as  to  whether  a  society  is  rational  and  moral  in  part, 
as  a  whole,  or  not  at  all.  And  our  test  as  to  whether  in  any 
given  set  of  social  phenomena  the  rational  and  moral  are 
present  must  be  sought  in  the  evidences  of  the  adjusting  and 
equilibrating  activity  of  the  social  conscience. 

It  will  be  objected  that  this  definition  of  the  social  con- 
science is  purely  formal,  another  of  the  innumerable  illustra- 
tions of  sociological  philosophizings.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
the  facts  supporting  such  a  conception  do  not  always  lie  on  the 
surface.  Many  immediate  and  outstanding  social  phenomena 
seem  to  indicate  diversity,  confusion,  even  irrationality.  The 
social  process  often  seems  to  move  forward  with  all  the  waste- 
ful, headlong  stupidity  of  a  herd  of  stampeded  cattle.  It  may 
indeed  be  seriously  doubted  whether  human  society  is  ever, 
even  for  one  short  period  of  time,  either  entirely  rational  or 
moral.  There  are,  to  be  sure,  moments  of  spiritual  illumination 
when  men  see  life  steadily  and  see  it  whole.  Even  this  rare 
privilege  is  reserved  apparently  for  the  choicer  spirits.  In 


TYPES  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  145 

society  as  we  know  it  there  are  forces  here  and  there  making 
for  righteousness;  there  are  also  other  forces  making  for  evil. 
Beyond  these,  the  kingdom  of  conscience,  lie  vast  reaches,  ruled 
by  the  mechanical  forces  of  nature,  inert,  non-committal  on 
moral  issues,  but  providing  a  huge  cosmic  setting  to  the  drama 
of  human  life. 

These  are  the  things  that  make  us  modest  in  our  claims 
for  the  social  conscience.  It  may  very  well  be  that  it  is  part 
of  an  eternally  perfect  and  closed  system  of  cosmic  righteous- 
ness and  that  the  very  stars  in  their  courses  fight  with  us  for 
the  triumph  of  the  right.  This,  however,  must  always  remain 
a  matter  of  faith,  not  of  scientific  investigation.  For  our  im- 
mediate intents  and  purposes  the  social  conscience  is  human 
in  origin  and  purpose.  We  have  no  evidence  that  without  the 
strenuous  and  unceasing  efforts  of  human  wills  it  would  con- 
tinue to  exist.  The  practical  question  of  its  reality  and  value 
is  a  question  as  to  whether  men  are  courageous  enough  to 
assume  and  maintain  the  role  of  sovereign  moral  creators  in 
the  universe. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books :  ADDAMS,  J. :  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  1902 ;  COOLEY, 
C.  H. :  Social  Organization,  Chs.   11-17;   HADLEY,  A.   T. :  Standards  of 
Public  Morality,  1907;  HALDANE,  R.  B. :  Higher  Nationality:  An  Address 
delivered  before  the  American   Bar  Association,   Sept.    ist,    1913;   HOB- 
HOUSE,  L.  T. :  Morals  in  Evolution,  1915;  MECKLIN,  J.  M. :  Democracy 
and  Race  Friction,  Ch.  VII,  "  Creating  a  Conscience " ;    SIDGWICK,  H. : 
Practical  Ethics,  Ch.  Ill,  Public  Morality;  STEPHEN,  L. :  The  Science  of 
Ethics,  Ch.  VIII;   SUMNER,  W.  G. :  Folkways,  1907;  WESTERMARCK,  E. : 
The  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas,  Vol.  I;  WUNDT,  W. : 
Ethics,  Vol.  I,  pp.  127  ff. 

2.  Articles:    JONES:    "The    Evolution    of    the     Social    Conscience 
Towards  Crime  and  Industrialism."    Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  12,  pp.  125  ff. 


CHAPTER  IX 
PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

§  i.   SOME  DEFINITIONS  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION 

THE  term  public  opinion  is  notoriously  vague.  This  is  doubt- 
less due  to  its  comparatively  recent  origin.  When  Bryce  speaks 
of  the  "  opinion  ",  unspoken,  unconscious,  but  not  the  less  real 
and  potent  that  has  existed  from  the  earliest  times,  he  evi- 
dently has  in  mind  the  mores  or  quasi-self-conscious  public 
sentiment  found  at  every  level  of  human  society.  It  is  part  of 
the  object  of  this  chapter  to  point  out  the  confusion  that  arises 
from  identifying  this  with  public  opinion  in  the  modern  sense. 
Government,  even  democracies,  have  been  known  from  an- 
tiquity. But  public  opinion  in  the  modern  sense  is  hardly 
more  than  a  century  old.  In  1820  Sir  Robert  Peel  paid  the 
following  tribute  to  the  rise  of  this  new  force:  "  Do  you  not 
think  that  the  tone  of  England,  of  that  great  compound  of 
folly,  weakness,  prejudice,  wrong  feeling,  right  feeling,  obsti- 
nacy, or  newspaper  paragraphs,  which  is  called  public  opinion, 
is  more  liberal — to  use  an  odious  but  intelligible  phrase — than 
the  policy  of  the  government?  Do  you  not  think  that  there  is 
a  feeling  becoming  more  general  and  more  confirmed — that  is 
independent  of  the  pressure  of  taxation,  or  of  any  immediate 
cause — in  favor  of  some  undefined  change  in  the  mode  of 
governing  the  country?  "  American  public  opinion  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  existed  until  it  was  called  into  being  by  the 
great  fight  for  independence  and  the  subsequent  struggle  to 
achieve  national  unity. 

Yet  writers  now  speak  of  democracy  as  "  the  organized 
sway  of  public  opinion  ".  They  give  us  the  impression  that 
public  opinion  is  a  sovereign,  mystical  and  yet  thoroughly  pur- 
poseful entity  which  presides  over  the  destinies  of  free  and 
democratic  peoples.  Cooley  says,  "  The  public  mind,  like  a 

146 


SOME  DEFINITIONS  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION          147 

careful  farmer,  moves  about  its  domain,  hoeing  weeds,  mending 
fences,  and  otherwise  setting  things  to  rights,  undeterred  by 
the  fact  that  the  work  will  not  stay  done  ".*  Bryce  also  tends 
to  objectify  public  opinion  when  he  describes  it  "  as  a  per- 
vading and  inpalpable  power,  like  the  ether,  which  passes 
through  all  things.  It  binds  all  the  parts  of  the  complicated 
system  together,  and  gives  them  whatever  unity  or  aim  they 
possess." 2 

President  Lowell,  having  in  mind  the  exigencies  of  repre- 
sentative government,  understands  by  real  and  effective  public 
opinion  the  result  of  "  crystallizing  a  mass  of  shapeless  ideas 
into  the  general  public  opinion  required  for  constructive  legis- 
lation and  political  action."  And  since  this  public  opinion  can 
never  be  entirely  clear  except  where  it  is  called  upon  to  pro- 
nounce between  definite  alternatives  in  terms  of  a  categorical 
"  yes  "  or  "  no  ",  it  follows  that  "  election  of  representatives 
and  public  officers  on  somewhat  artificial  party  lines  is,  in 
strict  representative  democracy,  the  only  authoritative  expres- 
sion of  public  opinion  ".  Yet  this  same  writer  tells  us  in 
another  connection  that  "  the  true  conception  of  public  opinion 
is  not  a  sum  of  divergent  economic  interests,  but  a  general 
conception  of  political  righteousness  on  which  so  far  as  possible 
all  men  unite  ",3  President  Lowell  evidently  uses  the  term 
public  opinion  in  two  senses.  In  one  sense,  it  is  fluctuating  and 
occasional,  the  synthesis  of  "  a  mass  of  shapeless  ideas  "  neces- 
sary for  effective  legislation  or  political  action.  In  the  other 
sense,  it  is  a  permanent  and  organized  body  of  sentiment  em- 
bodying a  general  conception  of  civic  righteousness. 

Godkin  seems  inclined  to  limit  public  opinion  in  the  strict 
sense  to  the  will  of  the  electorate.  It  is  the  "  consensus  of 
opinion,  among  large  bodies  of  persons,  which  acts  as  a 
political  force,  imposing  on  those  in  authority  certain  legisla- 
tion, or  certain  lines  of  policy  ".  But  the  same  writer  recog- 
nizes the  existence  of  public  opinion  much  wider  in  scope  and 
much  more  authoritative,  "  the  popular  belief  in  the  fitness  or 

1  Social  Organisation,  p.  133. 

2  American  Commonwealth,  Vol.  II,  p.  276. 

3  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government,  pp.  63,  92,  121. 


i48      PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

Tightness  of  something,  which  Mr.  Balfour  calls  c  climate ',  a 
belief  that  certain  lines  of  conduct  should  be  followed,  or  a 
certain  opinion  held,  by  good  citizens,  or  right  thinking  per- 
sons. Such  a  belief  does  not  impose  any  duty  on  anybody 
beyond  outward  conformity  to  the  received  standards  ".* 

Dicey  thinks  "  Public  opinion  itself  is,  after  all,  a  mere 
abstraction;  it  is  not  a  power  which  has  any  independent 
existence;  it  is  simply  a  general  term  for  the  beliefs  held  by 
a  number  of  individual  human  beings.  If  we  are  not  to  be- 
come the  dupes  of  abstract  conceptions,  we  must  individualize 
them  and  fix  our  attention  upon  the  thoughts  and  beliefs  of 
men  who  have  lived  and  worked,  and  whose  ideas  are  known 
to  us  through  their  conduct,  and  their  writings,  or  their  biogra- 
phies. We  had  far  better  think  about  Blackstone  than  about 
Blackstonianism,  about  Bentham  or  the  two  Mills  than 
about  Benthamism,  about  Sadler  and  Lord  Shaftesbury  than 
about  the  undeveloped  socialism  of  the  factory  movement." 
Yet  this  same  learned  jurist  closes  his  great  work  on  English 
public  opinion  during  the  last  century  with  this  citation  from 
Mark  Pattison,  "  Deeper  than  opinions  lies  the  sentiment  which 
predetermines  opinion.  What  it  is  important  for  us  to  know 
with  respect  to  our  own  age,  or  to  any  age,  is,  not  its  peculiar 
opinions,  but  the  complex  elements  oj  that  moral  feeling  and 
character  in  which,  as  in  their  congenial  soil,  opinions  grow" 2 

All  these  writers  are  more  or  less  impressed  with  the 
exceeding  complexity  of  the  phenomena  included  under  the 
term  public  opinion.  "  There  exists  at  any  given  time,"  says 
Dicey,  "  a  body  of  beliefs,  convictions,  sentiments,  accepted 
principles,  or  firmly-rooted  prejudices,  which,  taken  together, 
make  up  the  public  opinion  of  a  particular  era  ".  They  also 
tend  to  recognize  two  phases,  which,  to  be  sure,  can  not  always 
be  sharply  separated,  but  which  on  the  whole  play  different 
roles  in  the  economy  of  the  social  mind.  The  one  is  concerned 
mainly  with  the  higher,  more  plastic,  and  unstable  level  where 
there  is  an  interplay  of  ideas,  clash  of  opinions,  and  the  more 

1  Unforeseen  Tendencies  of  Democracy,  p.  185. 

2  Lectures  on  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England,  pp.  414  f .,  465  ff. 


OPINION  AND  CONSCIENCE  DIFFERENTIATED      149 

or  less  conscious  exercise  of  criticism.  This  phase  we  shall 
designate  as  public  opinion  proper.  At  a  lower  level  we  have 
stable  and  permanently  organized  masses  of  sentiments,  em- 
bodying principles  and  ideas  that  are  generally  accepted  by 
the  average  man.  This  phase  is  in  reality  the  social  conscience. 
It  is  the  ethical  phase  of  public  sentiment.  These  two  phases 
of  the  social  mind  have  been  suggested  by  the  writers  just 
quoted,  though  they  fail  to  distinguish  them  accurately. 

§  2.   PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 
DIFFERENTIATED 

The  social  conscience  is  obviously  closely  related  to  public 
opinion.  In  public  opinion,  however,  the  cognitive  element  is 
more  in  evidence.  Opinion  is,  as  Milton  says,  "  knowledge  in 
the  making  ".  Lack  of  stability  usually  characterizes  public 
opinion.  This  is  in  striking  contrast  with  the  fixed  and 
habitual  ways  of  thinking  and  feeling  that  appear  in  the  social 
conscience.  Social  conscience  differs  from  public  opinion  in 
definiteness,  finality,  settled  conviction.  Public  opinion  has  its 
fads  and  fancies,  its  fleeting  and  superficial  enthusiasms.  The 
social  conscience  includes  the  cherished  sentiments,  the  habits 
of  thought,  the  ultimate  loyalties  that  guide  the  average  man 
when  he  is  called  upon  to  make  decisions  upon  social  issues 
involving  an  ethical  element. 

In  general,  the  distinction  is  that  between  opinion  and 
sentiment.  Public  sentiment  includes  the  social  conscience  or 
those  general  norms  of  conduct  that  have  been  cemented  into 
systems  and  are  binding  upon  all.  For  it,  rather  than 
the  more  evanescent  and  untrustworthy  public  opinion,  fur- 
nishes society's  last  court  of  appeal.  Here  are  oriented  the 
steady  and  yet  powerful  feelings  that  provide  social  poise. 
To  be  sure,  feeling,  even  passionate  enthusiasms,  may  be 
associated  with  public  opinion.  Waves  of  hysteria,  upheavals 
of  public  indignation,  often  master  American  society  with 
something  like  hypnotic  power,  but  the  spell  is  soon  broken. 
The  feelings  associated  with  the  social  conscience  are  neither 
so  radical  nor  so  stormy.  They  burn,  however,  with  a 


150     PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

steadier  glow.  They  may  be  temporarily  overmastered  and 
forgotten.  In  time  they  reassert  themselves.  Their  power 
lies  in  their  persistency,  their  universality,  and  in  the  fact  that 
they  represent  the  accumulated  and  tested  wisdom  of  the  com- 
munity. If  the  social  conscience  is  differentiated  from  custom, 
on  the  other  hand,  in  that  it  is  the  conscious  application  of 
the  norms  of  social  wisdom  to  great  ethical  questions,  it  is 
to  be  distinguished  from  public  opinion,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
that  it  includes  the  mature  and  unchallenged  moral  sentiment 
of  the  community.  Confusion  arises  where  there  is  the  failure 
to  distinguish  between  these  two  phases  of  the  social  mind. 

There  is  a  certain  sense  in  which  we  may  say  that  the 
social  conscience  antedates  public  opinion.  For  the  permanent 
and  habitual  organizations  of  sentiments  growing  out  of  closely 
integrated  group  life  were  familiar  phenomena  long  before 
modern  public  opinion  emerged  and  became  effectively  self- 
conscious.  "  Previous  to  the  American  Revolution,"  remarks 
Godkin,  "  the  opinions  of  leading  men,  of  clergymen,  and  large 
landholders,  were  very  powerful  and  settled  most  of  the  affairs 
of  the  state;  but  the  opinion  of  the  majority  did  not  count  for 
much,  and  the  majority,  in  truth  did  not  think  that  it  should  ". 
Public  opinion  presupposes  the  social  conscience  just  as  the 
social  conscience  presupposes  an  earlier  and  undifferentiated 
stage  of  morality  when  thought  and  conduct  were  dominated 
by  custom,  taboo,  and  tradition.  The  quasi-rational  social  ends 
sought  in  custom  and  taboo  have  become  more  logical  and  pur- 
poseful in  modern  public  sentiment.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
permanent  "  sets  "  of  thought  and  emotion  that  stand  out  so 
strongly  in  the  powerful  systems  of  social  sentiments  are 
closely  akin  to  the  earlier  instruments  of  social  control,  the 
mores  of  primitive  tribal  morality.  They  now  function  in  a 
much  more  conscious  fashion  as  the  predicates  of  judgments 
that  are  pronounced  by  the  social  conscience  upon  issues  that 
are  paramount. 

The  social  conscience  is  more  conservative  than  public 
opinion.  To  entertain  sudden  and  radical  changes  is  no  part  of 
its  function.  It  is  the  conserver  of  values,  the  moral  balance 


OPINION  AND  CONSCIENCE  DIFFERENTIATED      151 

wheel  of  the  community.  Where  it  is  strong,  self-conscious, 
and  thoroughly  organized  we  have  a  vigorous  moral  life. 
Where  its  autonomy  is  threatened  by  the  interests  of  groups 
or  where  it  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  endless  cross-currents  of  an 
unstable  social  order,  such  as  the  American  society  of  the 
beginning  of  the  twentieth  century,  we  may  expect  confusion 
and  moral  impotence.  This  is  a  serious  handicap  in  an 
advanced  democracy  such  as  ours,  for  it  amounts  to  dis- 
crediting in  the  field  of  morals  the  court  of  last  resort.  Be- 
cause of  this  confusion  all  the  vast  stores  of  the  accumulated 
moral  experience  of  the  past  cannot  be  effectively  utilized. 
Men  are  unable  to  see  the  bearing  upon  the  moral  issues  of 
the  present  of  the  settled  convictions  of  the  past. 

Public  opinion  is  more  immediately  concerned  with  the 
ideas  and  the  innovations  of  individuals.  The  social  con- 
science represents  the  tested  conclusions  of  the  social  order. 
Public  opinion  paves  the  way  for  the  work  of  the  social  con- 
science. The  ideas  suggested  originally  by  individuals  are 
tossed  to  and  fro  at  the  level  of  public  opinion  and  gradually 
undergo  a  generalizing  process  through  which  they  become, 
though  usually  in  softened  and  modified  forms,  constituent 
elements  in  the  social  conscience  and  function  as  principles  in 
the  predicates  of  social  judgments.  This  does  not  mean  that 
the  social  conscience  is  mainly  the  result  of  a  critical  evalua- 
tion of  the  content  of  public  opinion  and  of  the  ultimate  selec- 
tion of  what  has  permanent  value.  Other  factors  only  partially 
rational  are  concerned,  such  as  vocations,  business  interests, 
racial  affiliations,  home  ties  and  training,  the  effect  of  domi- 
nant institutions  such  as  the  church  or  the  state,  and  finally 
the  blind  pull  and  haul  of  the  ever-varying  forces  in  a  grow- 
ing social  order  only  dimly  conscious  of  what  it  seeks.  As 
society  becomes  more  self-conscious,  however,  public  opinion 
will  be  in  increasing  measure  the  point  of  initiation  for  effect- 
ing changes  in  the  moral  convictions  of  a  free  democratic 
people. 

The  responsibility  for  the  moral  welfare  of  the  community 
is  carried  by  the  social  conscience  rather  than  by  public  opin- 


152      PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

ion.  This  is  to  be  inferred  from  the  character  and  the  func- 
tion of  the  social  conscience.  It  is  composed  of  the  tested 
wisdom  of  the  community  and  of  the  race  and  is  intimately 
associated  with  those  institutions  that  safeguard  vital  interests, 
such  as  the  home,  the  church,  and  the  state.  Among  all  the 
writers  who  discuss  public  opinion  we  find  constant  allusions 
to  the  social  conscience  or  to  the  sentiments  of  the  masses  of 
men  as  constituting  the  source  of  social  guidance.  It  must  be 
remembered,  however,  that  these  sentiments  are  only  moral  in 
so  far  as  the  principles  that  are  embedded  in  them  are  con- 
sciously applied  to  moral  issues.  The  reflective  element  is 
present  here  just  as  in  the  case  of  public  opinion;  the  dif- 
ference lies  in  the  fact  that  in  public  opinion  the  play  of  ideas 
is  much  freer.  In  the  case  of  the  social  sentiments  the  idea- 
tional  element  is  more  or  less  subordinated,  as  we  have  already 
pointed  out,  to  the  general  purpose  sought  by  the  system  of 
sentiments  with  which  it  is  integrally  related.  The  ideas 
active  in  the  social  conscience  are  general  in  character  and 
have  been  preserved  because  at  some  past  stage  of  social  evo- 
lution they  have  met  a  need.  They  are  absorbed  for  the  most 
part  from  the  social  milieu,  though  originally  they  may  have 
been  the  creation  of  some  individual.  It  is  only  after  the 
individual's  particularizations  have  become  generalized  that 
they  secure  a  place  in  the  social  conscience. 

The  justification  for  the  authoritative  and  responsible  posi- 
tion of  the  social  conscience  lies  in  its  role.  It  furnishes  social 
control,  provides  a  necessary  check  upon  radical  and  sub- 
versive ideas,  and  makes  possible  the  maintenance  of  a  well- 
balanced  social  order.  The  social  conscience,  therefore,  is 
more  or  less  the  sworn  enemy  of  new  ideas  or  innovations  of 
all  kinds,  while  an  enlightened  and  progressive  public  opinion 
must  welcome  new  ideas.  Public  opinion  in  a  democracy  must 
insist  upon  freedom  of  speech,  of  press,  and  of  assemblage,  as 
the  rights  that  guarantee  all  rights  of  a  free  people.  Here,  then, 
arises  an  awkward  conflict  between  a  vigorous  public  opinion 
and  the  social  conscience.  For  it  is  obvious  that  we  cannot 
cultivate  habits  of  thought  that  are  ever  analyzing  ancient 


OPINION  AND  CONSCIENCE  DIFFERENTIATED      153 

loyalties  and  casting  the  fundamental  principles  of  conduct 
into  the  melting-pot  of  critical  analysis  without  endangering 
the  very  existence  of  those  loyalties.  The  Greeks  succeeded 
in  habituating  themselves  to  the  critical  attitude  so  thoroughly 
that  when  Paul  visited  Athens  during  the  middle  of  the  first 
century  he  still  found  that  the  chief  interest  of  the  frequenters 
of  the  market-place  was  to  tell  or  hear  some  new  thing.  But 
may  not  the  transitory  character  of  the  brilliant  civilization  of 
the  ancient  Athenians  be  due  just  to  their  inability  to  hold  on 
to  ancient  loyalties  while  subjecting  everything  in  heaven  or 
on  earth  to  the  acid  of  criticism? 

It  would  appear,  therefore,  that  there  is  no  severer  test  of 
the  capacity  of  a  free,  enlightened,  and  progressive  community 
to  endure  than  just  this  ability  to  exercise  the  critical  attitude 
at  the  level  of  public  opinion,  thereby  eliminating  error  and 
lighting  the  way  to  social  betterment,  while  at  the  same  time 
maintaining  a  firm  grip  upon  the  tested  wisdom  of  the  past 
embodied  in  the  social  conscience.  It  is  obvious  that  this 
exceedingly  difficult  task  implies  a  measure  of  social  poise,  of 
keenness  of  insight,  of  intellectual  fearlessness  as  well  as  of  wise 
and  mature  habits  of  reflection.  Bryce  points  out  that  Ameri- 
cans are  still  far  from  a  solution  of  this,  perhaps  the  most 
difficult  problem  of  democracy.  "  They  are  a  commercial 
people,  whose  point  of  view  is  primarily  that  of  persons  accus- 
tomed to  reckon  profit  and  loss.  Their  impulse  is  to  apply  a 
direct  practical  test  to  men  and  measures,  to  assume  that  the 
men  who  have  got  on  fastest  are  the  smartest  men,  and  that  a 
scheme  which  seems  to  pay  well  deserves  to  be  supported. 
Abstract  reasoning  they  dislike,  subtle  reasonings  they  sus- 
pect; they  accept  nothing  as  practical  which  is  not  plain,  down- 
right, apprehensible,  by  an  ordinary  understanding.  Although 
open-minded,  so  far  as  willingness  to  listen  goes,  they  are 
hard  to  convince,  because  they  have  really  made  up  their 
minds  on  most  subjects,  having  adopted  the  prevailing  no- 
tions of  their  locality  or  party  as  truth  due  to  their  own 
reflections."  1 

1  Op.  tit.,  Vol.  II,  p.  293. 


154     PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

Americans  as  a  class  have  divorced  reflection  too  much 
from  the  fundamental  realm  of  loyalties  included  under  the 
social  conscience.  The  average  American  entrusts  to  this 
lower,  habitual,  and  traditional  phase  of  the  social  mind, 
with  its  authoritative  principles,  the  solution  of  most  of  his 
problems.  He  believes  implicitly  in  the  ability  of  public 
sentiment  with  its  time-honored  traditions,  to  meet  the  issue. 
Critical  reflection  is  considered  useless,  even  irksome.  Inevit- 
ably this  results  in  discounting  the  life  of  the  intellect.  The 
average  man  is  not  interested  in  free,  unattached  ideas  as  they 
emerge  in  public  opinion  and  in  the  give,  and  take  of  social 
contacts.  He  is  too  busy  to  subject  them  to  criticisms  and 
down  in  his  heart  he  feels  that  this  is  not  necessary.  Public 
opinion,  therefore,  comes  to  lack  dignity,  seriousness,  and 
sustained  force.  Hence  the  aimlessness,  the  wearisome  pull 
and  haul  of  stubborn  unreasoning  wills  when,  as  in  the  eco- 
nomic world,  great  issues  arise  calling  for  fundamental  read- 
justments of  the  social  order.  Men  have  not  been  schooled 
to  say  when  great  social  conflicts  arise,  "  Come  now,  let  us 
reason  together  ".  It  is  primarily  a  matter  of  a  strenuous 
insistence  upon  rights,  an  unreasoning  application  of  the  tra- 
ditional ethics  or  prevailing  group  standards. 

This  mental  attitude  is  rooted  in  the  very  spirit  and  genius 
of  American  institutions.  For  the  men  who  drafted  the  Con- 
stitution, in  seeking  to  safeguard  the  nation  from  the  vagaries 
of  a  youthful  Demos  who  had  not  yet  acquired  disciplined 
habits  of  thoughts,  sought  to  relieve  the  average  citizen  of  the 
burden  of  constructive  thinking  on  public  issues.  Thus  the 
Constitution  and  the  courts  came  to  be  more  or  less  the 
keepers  of  the  social  conscience  of  the  nation.  For  the  Con- 
stitution was  thought  to  embody  eternal  principles  of  political 
and  social  righteousness  which  it  was  the  function  of  courts 
and  learned  judges  to  apply  to  the  solution  of  social  ills. 
Public  opinion,  therefore,  as  a  free,  intelligent  and  constructive 
force,  was  handicapped.  Men  were  not  made  to  feel  the  need 
of  critical  and  creative  thought.  The  great  field  of  public 
opinion  fell  a  victim  to  fads  and  fancies,  to  waves  of  futile 


OPINION  AND  CONSCIENCE  DIFFERENTIATED      155 

and  often  irrational  popular  enthusiasms.  For  this  reason 
it  too  often  lacks  poise  and  self-conscious  purpose.  It  does 
not  have  the  dignity  and  force  that  can  come  only  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  great  tasks  to  perform.  It  is  the  ready  victim 
of  the  spell-binder  or  the  faddist.  It  delights  in  the  humbug, 
especially  if  he  is  master  of  his  art  and  can  deceive  skilfully 
and  with  a  sense  of  humor  but  does  not  feel  the  insult  to  its 
honor  and  intelligence  of  the  mountebank  in  politics,  religion, 
or  morals. 

By  thus  divorcing  public  opinion  and  the  social  conscience 
we  have  injured  both.  The  social  conscience  has  tended  to 
become  reactionary  because  shot  through  with  prejudices  and 
antiquated  principles  in  religion,  business  and  politics  that 
cannot  stand  the  fire  of  scientific  criticism.  Hence  the  social 
conscience  often  wastes  its  energies  on  unimportant  issues. 
It  is  mightily  aroused  over  divorce  scandals  without  having 
any  clear  grasp  of  the  fundamental  social  and  economic 
changes  of  which  divorce  is  but  the  external  manifestation. 
It  stands  bewildered,  amazed,  even  pained  at  the  discrediting 
of  ancient  religious  loyalties  without  any  comprehension  of  the 
advances  in  scientific  and  philosophical  thought  that  have 
produced  these  changes.  It  is  scandalized  at  the  frank  and 
fearless  discussion  of  sex  hygiene  and  the  insidious  social  evil 
because  it  lacks  any  real  and  intelligent  insight  into  the  bear- 
ings of  these  matters  upon  human  welfare.  Hence  an  ignorant 
social  conscience  often  repudiates  valuable  scientific  truth 
that  should  be  placed  at  the  service  of  the  community  in  its 
eternal  fight  against  crime,  ignorance,  incompetency  and  the 
deadly  blight  of  a  smug  and  self-satisfied  Philistinism  that  is 
the  sure  sign  of  a  decadent  civilization. 

Likewise  public  opinion,  when  divorced  from  the  social 
conscience,  tends  to  become  flippant,  careless,  even  cruel. 
It  rebels  at  the  irksomeness  of  thought  because  it  has  not 
been  made  to  feel  either  the  duty  or  the  dignity  of  reflection. 
It  lacks  moral  earnestness  because  it  does  not  realize  that 
only  through  the  sober  and  critical  analysis  of  problems 
are  principles  gradually  formulated  that  in  time  must  find 


156     PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

expression  in  action.  Only  the  stern  discipline  derived  from 
facing  and  solving  new  issues,  from  devising  constructive  pro- 
grams, from  being  made  to  feel  that  the  intelligent  cooperation 
of  each  individual  can  alone  secure  the  welfare  of  the  whole, 
will  assure  to  public  opinion  the  sober  earnestness  it  lacks. 
Just  what  the  details  of  this  colossal  task  of  lending  moral 
dignity  to  the  public  opinion  of  a  people  will  require,  we 
cannot  here  pause  to  consider.  It  may  involve  increasing  the 
social  responsibility  of  the  individual  through  participation 
in  government;  it  may  mean  greater  care  and  intelligence  in 
selecting  political  representatives  and  social  experts;  it  may 
necessitate  economic  changes  looking  to  an  industrial  democ- 
racy; in  any  case,  it  must  seek  to  bring  the  individual  to  feel 
a  pervasive  human  interest  that  will  in  turn  create  the  like- 
mindedness  and  sense  of  larger  loyalties  without  which  an 
intelligent  public  opinion  or  an  effective  social  conscience  are 
impossible. 

§  3.   THE  ORGANIC  SOCIAL  JUDGMENT 

It  is  possible  for  us  to  formulate  the  problem  of  the  rela- 
tion of  public  opinion  to  the  social  conscience  in  the  terms  of 
the  relation  of  the  subject  to  the  predicate  in  the  judgment. 
The  predicate  of  every  judgment  is  provided  by  the  organi- 
zation of  previous  experiences,  the  "  apperceiving  mass " 
through  which  the  new  data  of  knowledge  are  orientated  and 
evaluated.  The  child  that  has  read  of  the  kangaroo  and  per- 
haps copied  pictures  of  it  is  able  when  it  sees  the  real  animal 
for  the  first  time  at  the  "  zoo  "  to  pronounce  a  reliable  judg- 
ment in  terms  of  this  previously  accumulated  and  organized 
experience.  When  President  Lowell  speaks  of  "  the  true  con- 
ception of  public  opinion  "  as  "  a  general  conception  of  right- 
eousness in  which  so  far  as  possible  all  men  unite  ",  he  has  in 
mind  chiefly  that  mass  of  tested  sentiments  that  function  as 
the  predicate  in  the  judgment  pronounced  upon  public  issues. 
The  social  mind  in  the  comprehensive  sense  includes  not  only 
this  common  body  of  sentiments  but  also  the  ideas,  the  issues, 
the  new  problems,  that  are  constantly  emerging  and  being 


THE  ORGANIC  SOCIAL  JUDGMENT  157 

judged  in  terms  of  this  "  general  conception  of  political  right- 
eousness "  on  which  all  good  men  agree. 

So  far  as  public  opinion  has  to  do  with  the  discussion  of 
the  new  elements  in  the  situation  or  the  formulation  of  the 
problem,  it  is  possible  to  say  that  public  opinion  provides  us 
with  the  subject  and  the  social  conscience  with  the  predicate 
of  social  judgments.  It  is  of  course  true  that  the  critical  exam- 
ination of  new  data  of  experience  and  the  final  formulation  of 
the  issue  cannot  be  arbitrarily  divorced  from  the  process  of 
applying  the  fixed  ethical  principles  of  the  social  conscience 
to  these  issues.  We  have  here  to  do  with  what  the  logicians 
are  pleased  to  call  the  "  habit- forming  "  and  the  "  habit-ap- 
plying "  phases  of  the  social  mind.  A  more  detailed  analysis 
of  the  relations  between  these  two  phases  would  show  that 
they  are  interdependent.  For  the  "  habit-forming  "  phase  or 
public  discussion  suggests  to  the  "  habit-applying  "  phase  or 
social  conscience  new  principles  with  which  to  meet  new  issues, 
while  the  social  conscience  provides  the  sanction  for  the  norms 
used  in  the  judgment  of  issues.  Here  we  have  a  suggestion  as 
to  the  dialectic  of  moral  progress  from  the  larger  social  point 
of  view. 

It  is  well  to  remember,  however,  that  between  the  fleeting 
public  opinion,  which  is  merely  "  knowledge  in  the  making  " 
and  which  deals  very  often  with  matters  of  superficial  inter- 
est, and  the  mature  and  unchallenged  public  sentiment  in- 
cluded in  the  social  conscience,  there  are  many  gradations. 
We  may  have  many  and  widely  diverse  social  judgments  rang- 
ing from  the  quasi-rational  fads  and  crazes  of  dress  or  food 
or  amusement  to  the  sober  and  mature  pronouncement  of 
public  sentiment.  In  general,  however,  public  opinion  is 
concerned  with  the  unattached  idea,  the  unformed  judgment, 
the  issues  that  demand  critical  examination  and  that  are 
suggested  by  unforeseen  social  changes.  The  importance  of 
the  social  judgment  pronounced  upon  these  depends  directly 
upon  the  extent  to  which  the  fundamental  loyalties  and  con- 
victions of  the  community  are  brought  to  bear. 

In  all  those  pronouncements  where  the  social  conscience 


158      PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

is  involved  it  is  possible,  therefore,  to  speak  of  "  organic  social 
judgments  'V  thus  differentiating  them  from  the  casual  and 
fleeting  judgments  of  the  social  mind  that  do  not  tap  the  deeper 
loyalties  of  the  community.  Much  that  passes  as  public 
opinion  partakes  of  this  shallow  and  unsubstantial  character. 
It  finds  a  parallel  in  the  casual  utterances  of  the  individual 
who  is  called  upon  in  ordinary  conversation  to  pronounce 
many  superficial  judgments  upon  issues  that  do  not  interest 
him  vitally  and  the  significance  of  which  he  has  not  duly 
considered.  But  when,  in  the  topsy  turvy  of  public  opinion, 
the  ideas,  issues,  or  what  not  that  are  tossed  about  on  the 
tongues  of  men,  come  to  involve  those  fundamental  norms 
that  are  generally  recognized  as  necessary  to  the  welfare  of 
the  community  we  have  the  moral  element.  The  extent  to 
which  the  moral  element  is  present  may  vary  greatly.  Every 
great  question,  however,  such  as  the  drink  evil,  child  labor, 
woman's  rights  and  the  like,  takes  on  an  ethical  atmosphere, 
for  it  cannot  be  attacked  without  raising  the  ultimate  ques- 
tion of  a  well-balanced  social  order  that  will  best  conserve 
human  values. 

The  very  subtlety  and  spiritual  character  of  these  ultimate 
human  values  makes  a  clear-cut  moral  judgment  on  large 
social  issues  difficult.  It  is  hard  for  the  average  man  to  grasp 
and  apply  them  in  an  intelligent  and  effective  manner.  It 
often  happens,  therefore,  that  social  progress  can  be  better 
furthered  by  centering  attention  and  effort  upon  some  concrete 
issue.  The  emphasis  of  the  more  or  less  selfish  incentive  of 
industrial  efficiency  has  furthered  prohibition  sentiment  where 
an  appeal  to  the  more  subtle  moral  issue  has  failed.  At  the 
same  time  when  great  absorbing  issues  such  as  slavery,  pro- 
hibition, or  world-freedom  come  really  to  engage  the  attention 
and  men  are  forced  to  decide  the  issue,  they  fall  back  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  upon  the  great  norms  of  the  moral 
sentiments.  There  is  nothing  that  the  corrupt  politician  or 
the  opponents  of  reform  fear  more  than  a  direct  appeal  to 
the  principles  of  the  social  conscience.  Hence  their  strenu- 

1  The  phrase  is  Cooley's,  see  his  Social  Organization,  p.  123. 


THE  ORGANIC  SOCIAL  JUDGMENT  159 

cms  efforts  in  political  campaigns  to  inject  personal,  economic 
or  other  issues  in  order  to  prevent  the  average  voter  from 
fixing  his  attention  upon  the  moral  issue  involved.  The  dan- 
ger of  a  clear-cut  moral  issue  for  the  cause  of  the  grafter 
or  the  representative  of  selfish  interests  lies  in  the  fact  that 
on  such  issues  an  enlightened  community  rarely  equivocates 
or  blunders. 

Every  "organic  social  judgment"  presupposes  a  more  or 
less  extended  period  of  social  evolution  and  the  persistence 
of  a  certain  type  of  civilization  through  which  the  sentiments 
that  compose  the  social  conscience  are  organized.  For  without 
such  continuous  and  more  or  less  self-conscious  social  tradi- 
tions an  effective  social  conscience  is  impossible.  It  often  hap- 
pens that  this  moulding  of  sentiments  and  of  habits  of  thought 
takes  place  under  different  conditions  from  those  under  which 
the  problem  arises.  In  such  cases  the  relation  between  the 
social  conscience  and  the  issue  is  more  or  less  factitious  or 
accidental.  If  the  previous  experience  has  tended  to  give 
that  training  and  social  discipline  that  enable  men  to  judge 
wisely,  it  is  well.  If  the  previous  training  results  in  sets 
of  feelings  and  turns  of  thought  ill  adapted  to  the  solution 
of  the  given  problem,  the  community  has  no  choice  but  to  make 
use  of  the  equipment  it  has.  For  social  pressure  demands 
that  the  decision  be  made  and  that  right  speedily.  The  tragedy 
of  the  French  Revolution  was  that  society  as  a  whole  lacked 
the  disciplined  and  enlightened  social  conscience  that  would 
have  enabled  men  to  solve  their  problems.  The  colossal  in- 
justice of  the  Reconstruction  period  in  the  South  lay  in  the 
attempt  on  the  part  of  the  dominant  political  group  to  force 
upon  the  ex-slave  owners  an  artificial,  ready-made  social  con- 
science. 

The  sanest  and  most  healthful  conditions  of  progress  are 
found  where  the  forces  at  work  in  the  social  situation,  in  the 
midst  of  which  great  issues  come  slowly  to  a  head,  function  to 
discipline  and  organize  the  social  conscience  that  must  provide 
a  solution  for  these  issues.  The  social  process  thus  suggests 
a  remedy  while  at  the  same  time  creating  great  problems.  The 


160      PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

marvelous  toughness  of  English  civilization  is  largely  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  interpretative  and  self-adjusting  power  of  the 
social  conscience  has  always  kept  pace  with  the  demands  made 
upon  it  for  the  solution  of  new  questions.  The  pragmatic 
English  mind  has  somehow  managed  to  wrest  from  the  very 
social  process  that  creates  the  issues,  if  not  complete  remedies, 
at  least  some  sort  of  a  compromise  that  would  make  life  tol- 
erable. 

The  social  conscience,  as  furnishing  the  predicate  of  the 
"  organic  social  judgment ",  is  necessarily  conventional,  con- 
servative and  relatively  fixed.  It  would  be  a  mistake,  however, 
to  imagine  that  it  does  not  undergo  change  or  that  change  is 
inimical  to  its  integrity  and  usefulness.  The  elements  of 
change  are  present  whenever  newer  social  experiences  are 
formulated  by  discussion  and  presented  to  the  social  conscience 
for  evaluation.  For  it  is  true  of  communities  as  well  as  of 
individuals  that  new  data  are  never  integrated  into  the  older 
bodies  of  knowledge  without  changing  this  knowledge.  Every 
time  a  community  is  forced  to  appeal  to  its  fundamental  loyal- 
ties in  the  solution  of  a  new  issue  the  social  conscience  itself 
is,  in  part  at  least,  modified;  in  pronouncing  its  judgment 
society  assimilates  the  new  experience.  Where  a  social  judg- 
ment is  reached  only  after  prolonged  debate  and  vigorous 
clash  of  interests,  fundamental  modifications  of  the  social 
conscience  invariably  ensue.  The  conflict  over  slavery  is  a 
typical  illustration.  The  recent  colossal  struggle  for  world- 
freedom  bids  fair  to  have  a  far-reaching  influence  upon  the 
fundamental  loyalties  of  this  as  well  as  of  many  other  nations. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

i.  Books:  BAGEHOT,  WALTER:  Physics  and  Politics,  Ch.  IV,  "The 
Age  of  Discussion";  BRYCE,  J. :  The  American  Commonwealth,  Chs.  on 
Public  Opinion;  COOLEY,  C.  H. :  Social  Organization:  A  Study  of  the 
Larger  Mind,  1909 ;  DICEY,  A.  V. :  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England, 
Lectures,  I,  XII;  GHENT,  W.  J. :  Our  Benevolent  Feudalism,  Ch.  VII; 
GODKIN,  E.  L. :  Unforeseen  Tendencies  of  Democracy,  pp.  183  ff. ;  LOWELL, 
A.  L. :  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Government,  1913 ;  MALLOCK,  W.  H. : 
Aristocracy  and  Evolution,  pp.  185  f. ;  MUIR,  RAMSAY:  Nationalism  and 
Internationalism,  Ch.  I;  Ross,  E.  A.:  Social  Psychology,  Chs.  18,  22; 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  161 

Social  Control,  Ch.  10;  SCHMOLLER,  G. :  Grundriss  der  allgemeinen  Volks- 
wirthschaftslehre,  Vol.  II,  542  f. 

2.  Articles :  HADLEY,  A.  T. :  "  Organization  of  Public  Opinion." 
North  American  Review,  Feb.,  1916 ;  JENKS,  "  Guidance  of  Public 
Opinion."  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  i,  158  ff. ;  YARROS  :  "  The 
Press  and  Public  Opinion."  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  5,  372  f. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

§  i.   THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  NEVER  IMPARTIAL 

OBVIOUSLY  the  greatest  handicap  of  the  social  conscience  is 
the  natural  moral  lethargy  of  mankind.  A  certain  amount 
of  idealism  is  necessary  for  all  moral  effort.  But  moral  ideal- 
ism is  especially  necessary  before  we  can  make  the  vague 
ethical  sentiments  of  the  social  conscience  play  an  effective 
role  in  the  lives  of  men.  For,  after  all,  the  social  conscience 
is  not  so  much  a  body  of  definite  authoritative  moral  laws  as 
of  traditional  ways  of  feeling  and  acting  that  owe  their  hold 
upon  society  to  the  presence  of  the  eternal  social  problem.  It 
is  only  in  times  of  great  need  that  men  rise  above  the  level  of 
habit  and  ethical  tradition  becomes  vitalized  by  the  moral 
imagination.  It  is  then  that  the  social  conscience  assumes  a 
conscious  and  dominant  role  in  the  direction  of  human  af- 
fairs. The  sheer  pressure  of  events  forces  men  to  project 
themselves  through  imagination  beyond  the  immediately  given. 
Men  are  moral  because  they  are  idealists  and  they  are  idealists 
because  life  demands  it.  During  those  periods  of  social  evo- 
lution, therefore,  when  the  emphasis  is  upon  things  rather  than 
upon  ideas,  when  materialism  takes  precedence  over  idealism, 
there  is  a  tendency  to  discount  the  highest  and  most  exacting 
ethical  traditions. 

But  the  social  conscience  has  limitations  other  than  those 
that  inhere  in  human  nature.  It  is  never  impartial.  It  cannot 
from  its  very  nature  and  constitution  take  a  judicial  and  critical 
attitude.  Fixed  systems  of  sentiment  that  have  grown  up 
under  the  social  discipline  of  the  past  must  necessarily  be  ap- 
plied more  or  less  arbitrarily  to  the  issues  of  the  day.  The  right 
of  the  social  conscience  to  pronounce  upon  these  issues  implies 
an  insistence  upon  its  own  authority  and  finality.  When  once 

162 


THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  NEVER  IMPARTIAL     163 

this  authority  is  challenged,  the  social  conscience  loses  its 
significance  as  a  court  of  final  reference.  This  at  once  raises 
a  rather  uncomfortable  question.  In  a  democracy  we  are 
thrown  back  upon  the  public  sentiment  that  has  come  down 
from  the  past  for  the  settlement  of  our  problems  and  yet  we 
cannot  expect  from  this  judge  a  critical  and  independent 
weighing  of  the  evidence.  The  decision  is  rendered  in  terms 
of  fixed  and  traditional  forms  of  thought  and  feeling.  How 
do  we  know,  then,  that  an  appeal  to  public  sentiment  can 
ever  secure  an  equitable  and  intelligent  consideration  of  the 
interests  of  all  concerned? 

It  may  be  remarked,  first,  that,  in  so  far  as  the  habits  of 
thought  and  feeling  embodied  in  the  social  conscience  arose 
independent  of  the  present  situation,  they  cannot  be  accused 
of  being  prejudiced  one  way  or  the  other.  They  are  impartial 
very  much  in  the  same  way  that  existing  laws  are  impartial 
with  reference  to  new  developments  of  crime.  The  laws  deal 
with  crime  in  a  habitual  and  institutionalized  fashion.  If, 
however,  forms  of  crime  arise  for  which  the  laws  provide 
no  adequate  provisions  they  fail,  but  through  no  fault  of 
their  own.  The  attitude  of  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  com- 
munity towards  new  issues  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  individual 
when  faced  with  a  moral  problem  involving  new  elements. 
He  has,  as  a  rule,  neither  the  time  nor  the  ability  to  recast 
his  moral  equipment  in  the  thorough-going  fashion  which 
would  enable  him  to  meet  the  issue  fully.  The  demand  for 
action  requires  that  he  decide  as  best  he  can  in  terms  of  the 
moral  insight  furnished  him  by  past  experience.  The  ques- 
tion of  the  freedom  and  moral  initiative  that  he  commands 
at  the  moment  is  really  a  question  of  the  kind  of  habits  of 
thought  and  action  that  he  has  built  up  in  the  past.  Breadth 
of  view,  richness  of  moral  experience,  Socratic  insight,  a  plas- 
tic, and  adjustable  will,  these  are  the  assets  that  insure  a 
successful  solution  of  his  problems. 

It  may  be  remarked,  secondly,  that  the  arbitrariness  of  the 
social  conscience  is  not  to  be  obviated  by  confining  our  atten- 
tion to  the  immediate  situation  when  the  fixed  habits  of  thought 


1 64     THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

and  feeling  of  the  community  are  face  to  face  with  a  moral 
issue.  It  is  the  training  of  public  sentiment  in  the  past  that 
alone  can  make  for  the  solution  of  the  problems  of  the  present. 
Paradoxical  as  it  may  sound,  it  is  possible  to  institutionalize 
the  critical  attitude.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  making  freedom 
a  habit  of  mind.  It  is  possible  thereby  to  secure  the  support  of 
an  omnipotent  and  authoritative  public  sentiment  in  favor  of 
progress.  This  indeed  must  be  sought  in  every  effort  to 
educate  public  sentiment.  For  it  is  a  fundamental  prere- 
quisite to  progress  to  secure  social  habits  that  will  insist 
authoritatively  upon  a  critical  and  unprejudiced  analysis  of 
all  matters  of  vital  public  concern.  There  is  no  reason  why 
the  social  conscience  should  not  become  thoroughly  prejudiced 
in  favor  of  an  unprejudiced  attitude  on  public  questions. 

§  2.   THE  NARROW  SCOPE  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

The  social  conscience  is  limited  also  by  the  narrowness 
of  its  scope  of  application.  It  must  express  itself  in  relatively 
simple  terms.  The  social  conscience  is  most  intelligent  and 
effective  where  it  has  before  it  an  issue  that  can  be  decided 
in  terms  of  "  yes  "  or  "  no  ".  Where  the  situation  becomes 
complicated  and  several  alternatives  are  offered  demanding 
critical  reflection  and  weighing  of  evidence,  the  social  con- 
science fails,  simply  because  it  is  composed  of  the  sentiments 
of  millions  of  diverse  human  beings  who  cannot  be  relied  upon 
to  arrive  at  anything  like  unanimity  on  a  complex  issue.  If 
the  proposition  upon  which  a  categorical  pronouncement  is 
asked  is  comprehensive  and  fundamental  in  the  sense  that  it 
subsumes  more  or  less  the  minor  issues  and  the  various  inter- 
ests involved,  we  may  hope  to  get  a  worth-while  expression  of 
public  sentiment.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  issue  raised  is 
unimportant,  artificial,  involving  technical  knowledge,  or  has 
no  bearings  upon  fundamental  interests  of  the  community  it 
is  difficult  to  get  an  effective  expression  of  public  sentiment. 
The  broad  ethical  categories  of  the  social  conscience  are  of 
course  useless  where  a  technical  question  is  concerned.  It  is 
only  when  technical,  local,  or  minor  considerations  can  all  be 


THE  NARROW  SCOPE  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE  165 

gathered  together  under  some  simple  ethical  principle  and  this 
principle  applied  directly  to  a  situation  involving  definite 
alternatives  that  an  appeal  to  the  social  conscience  will  bring 
intelligent  results. 

The  inherent  limitations  of  the  scope  of  the  social  con- 
science emerge  most  strikingly  perhaps  in  the  political  sphere. 
In  a  representative  democracy  men  are  chosen  ostensibly  as 
official  mouthpieces  of  public  sentiment.  Too  often  they  find 
themselves  forced  to  legislate  upon  matters  involving  technical 
knowledge  or  upon  questions  of  obscure  and  local  interest 
with  which  they  are  not  familiar.  This  encourages  various 
dubious  combinations  of  voters  and  opens  the  door  for  the 
manipulations  of  the  boss.  The  city  member  wants  a  fran- 
chise bill  passed  and  compounds  with  the  country  member 
interested  in  a  bill  to  make  a  stream  in  his  locality  navigable. 
Neither  understands  the  facts  as  to  the  bill  for  which  he  is 
voting  and  risks  the  disillusionment  of  learning  later  that 
he  has  unwittingly  furthered  graft  or  waste  of  public  funds. 
The  weakness  in  such  a  situation  is  that  the  representative  of 
public  opinion  is  called  upon  to  perform  duties  that  are  prop- 
erly the  task  of  the  specialist. 

The  various  attempts  of  recent  times,  such  as  the  recall, 
direct  primary,  referendum,  and  the  like,  designed  to  correct 
these  evils  by  a  direct  and  constant  appeal  to  public  senti- 
ment, often  proceed  upon  the  naive  assumption  that  there  is  no 
question  of  concern  to  the  community  that  cannot  be  solved 
by  an  appeal  to  the  people.  But  a  popular  vote  on  a  law 
cannot  possibly  be  of  any  value  unless  it  involves  a  principle 
upon  which  all  voters  can  form  an  intelligent  opinion.  Such 
an  opinion  can  only  be  formed  where  it  is  possible  to  apply 
to  the  issue  familiar  and  generally  acknowledged  principles 
that  are  deeply  embedded  in  the  sentiments  of  the  community. 
The  uncertainty  of  public  opinion  in  states  such  as  Oregon, 
where  constant  use  has  been  made  of  direct  legislation,  seems 
to  indicate  that  the  voter  was  often  not  clear  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  issues  involved  and  in  any  case  was  unable  to  make  an 
intelligent  and  consistent  application  of  the  "  serious,  deep- 


1 66     THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

rooted,  and  stable  "  public  sentiment  through  which  alone  the 
people  can  make  the  collective  will  effective.  President 
Lowell's  conclusion  is,  "  If  it  be  true  that  the  people  are  more 
capable  of  forming  opinions  on  general  principles  and  moral 
issues  than  on  a  mass  of  details,  then  the  referendum  would 
appear  to  accomplish  its  object  better  in  questions  of  the  former 
class,  and  details  should  be  referred  to  popular  vote  as  little  as 
the  trustworthiness  of  the  public  servants  will  permit  'V 

A  fallacy,  therefore,  lurks  behind  the  dictum  we  often  hear 
to  the  effect  that  more  democracy  is  the  best  possible  cure 
for  the  ills  of  democracy.  Faguet  points  out  that  governments 
are  just  as  liable  to  fail  through  an  over-emphasis  of  the 
principles  for  which  they  stand  as  through  the  neglect  of  these 
principles.  Prussianism  toppled  to  its  ruin  through  an  over- 
plus of  Prussianism.  Where  public  sentiment  is  overworked 
in  a  democracy  the  inevitable  result  is  that  power  falls  into 
the  unregulated  and  irresponsible  hands  of  a  few  who  will  be 
under  strong  temptation  to  abuse  this  power.  It  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  the  constant  and  ill-considered  appeal  to  the  social 
conscience  of  the  community  but  rather  a  question  of  provid- 
ing the  most  efficient  and  intelligent  methods  for  placing  this 
body  of  moral  sentiment  at  the  disposal  of  the  community. 

§  3.   THE  TYRANNY  OF  THE  MAJORITY 

The  criticism  which  has  been  commonly  advanced  against 
all  communities  in  which  public  sentiment  is  sovereign  is  that 
they  are  especially  subject  to  the  tyranny  of  the  majority. 
The  term  "  tyranny  of  the  majority  "  is  one  that  has  been 
used  in  various  and  often  ambiguous  senses.  The  essence  of 
tyranny  is  the  inequitable  and  arbitrary  use  of  power.  A 
majority  in  a  democracy  where  public  sentiment  is  supreme  is 
tyrannical  only  when  it  tries  to  use  its  power  in  ways  that 
are  contrary  to  what  public  sentiment  sanctions.  In  other 
words,  the  place  and  function  of  the  majority  is  delimited  by 
general  ideas  as  to  the  ends  for  which  government  should 
strive,  the  means  that  should  be  used  to  attain  these  ends, 
1  Op.  dt.,  pp.  216,  232. 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  THE  MAJORITY  167 

and  the  principles  that  should  actuate  all  the  members  of  a 
free  democratic  community.  The  sole  reason  for  the  appeal 
to  the  majority  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  will  of  the  ma- 
jority is  as  close  as  we  can  get  to  an  accurate  expression  of 
this  consensus  of  opinion  and  sentiment  which  is  the  ultimate 
source  of  authority.  The  moral  sanction  of  the  majority 
does  not  lie  in  its  absolute  trustworthiness  but  in  the  fact  that 
in  a  democracy  men  have  agreed  to  abide  by  the  will  of  the 
majority  as  the  best  possible  means  for  ascertaining  public 
sentiment  on  any  issue.  To  repudiate  the  will  of  the  majority 
is  to  repudiate  government  and  order  and  to  revert  to 
anarchy. 

The  danger  of  the  majority's  abuse  of  its  power  has  been 
abundantly  safeguarded  by  the  founders  of  American  insti- 
tutions through  courts  and  constitutions  and  bills  01  rights. 
The  legislative  bodies,  both  state  and  federal,  pass  laws 
that  are  the  expression  of  the  will  of  the  majority.  But 
according  to  the  genius  of  American  institutions  the  people 
have  agreed  to  abide  by  those  laws  only  when  they  are  pro- 
nounced constitutional  by  the  courts.  To  decide  that  a 
given  piece  of  legislation  is  unconstitutional  is  equivalent  to 
saying  that  it  is  a  result  of  using  the  rule  of  the  majority 
in  a  way  which  all  the  members  of  the  community  have 
not  agreed  to  accept  as  binding.  That  is  to  say,  legisla- 
tures have  not  the  right  to  use  the  principle  of  the  ma- 
jority to  give  expression  to  public  sentiment  except  along 
certain  very  definitely  predetermined  lines  laid  down  by  the 
constitution  and  judicial  decisions  based  thereon.  Hence  it 
may  happen  that  laws,  in  thorough  accord  with  the  moral 
sentiment  of  the  community,  are  invalidated  by  the  courts. 
In  a  recent  decision  the  Supreme  Court  invalidated  the 
child  labor  law,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  not  in  accord 
with  the  fixed  and  constitutional  forms  through  which  the 
majority  must  seek  to  give  expression  to  public  sentiment. 
In  its  action  the  Supreme  Court  was  not  trying  to  thwart 
the  sane  and  progressive  public  sentiment  seeking  expression 
through  this  law.  The  court  merely  insists  that  this  public 


1 68     THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

sentiment  shall  find  expression  in  a  form  which  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  community  have  agreed  to  accept  as  authoritative 
and  binding. 

§  4.   THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE 

Bryce  finds  a  most  serious  weakness  of  American  society 
in  "  the  fatalism  of  the  multitude  ".  "  The  fatalism  of  the  mul- 
titude "  is  but  another  name  for  the  absolute  and  unquestioning 
surrender  of  the  average  man  to  the  deliverances  of  the  mass 
of  sentiments  associated  with  the  social  conscience.  Even  our 
cherished  traditions,  such  as  freedom  of  speech,  tend  to  disarm 
any  criticism  of  the  verdict  of  public  sentiment.  For  the 
recalcitrant  is  supposed  to  have  enjoyed  abundant  oppor- 
tunity to  utter  his  mind  and,  when  the  final  decision  comes 
and  the  public  pronounces  upon  the  issues,  he  has  no  other 
court  of  appeal.  Just  as  our  legal  system  does  not  contem- 
plate any  repudiation  of  the  deliverances  of  the  decision  of 
the  Supreme  Court  so  there  is  no  provision  for  the  repudiation 
of  the  dictates  of  public  sentiment.  To  repudiate  public  sen- 
timent would  threaten  the  integrity  of  the  entire  moral 
economy.  Furthermore,  the  atmosphere  of  almost  religious 
sanctity  with  which  the  patriotic  American  surrounds  his 
democratic  institutions  lends  to  the  utterance  of  the  social 
conscience  the  authority  of  a  moral  Sinai.  Vox  populi  be- 
comes synonymous  with  vox  del.  A  pessimistic  or  a  sceptical 
attitude  towards  public  sentiment  is  thus  placed  in  the  same 
category  with  atheism  and  anarchy. 

That  which  constitutes  the  power  of  democracy,  the  secret 
of  its  hold  upon  the  hearts  of  men,  may  indeed  become  a  great 
stumbling  block  in  the  way  of  progress.  Democracy  is  in  its 
last  analysis  a  state  of  mind.  It  consists  of  certain  ideals,  for 
the  most  part  exceedingly  vague  and  intangible,  which  must  be 
intelligently  appreciated  by  all  and  made  the  basis  of  com- 
munal action.  But,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  very  like- 
mindedness  contains  a  menace.  For  as  the  sense  of  this 
like-mindedness  grows  upon  the  individual  through  education, 
social  institutions  and  the  immeasurable  suggestive  power  of 


THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE  169 

millions  of  his  fellow  citizens,  the  tendency  is  to  destroy  per- 
sonal initiative.  Uniformity  in  language,  social  customs,  po- 
litical institutions,  education,  and  art  combine  with  the  sheer 
geographical  expanse  of  his  native  land  to  coerce  the  individ- 
ual American,  to  put  him  in  the  strait-jacket  of  uniformity. 
"  On  all  sides  ",  says  Bryce,  "  there  stretches  round  him  an 
illimitable  horizon;  and  beneath  the  blue  vault  which  meets 
that  horizon  there  is  everywhere  the  same  busy  multitude  with 
its  clamor  of  mingled  voices  which  he  hears  close  by.  In  this 
multitude  his  own  being  seems  lost.  He  has  the  sense  of  in- 
significance which  overwhelms  us  when  at  night  we  survey 
the  host  of  heaven,  and  know  that  from  even  the  nearest  fixed 
star  this  planet  of  ours  is  invisible."  Thus  there  arises  the 
fatalistic  attitude  born  of  the  overmastering  sense  of  the  mul- 
titude. The  legitimate  and  necessary  democratic  conviction 
that  the  majority  must  rule  comes  in  time  to  mean  that  its 
decisions  are  eternally  right  and  any  revolt  against  them  is, 
therefore,  morally  reprehensible. 

The  psychological  effects  of  this  regard  for  the  opinions 
of  the  multitude  on  American  thought  and  life  are  simply 
incalculable  in  their  subtlety  and  power.  Respect  for  public 
opinion  has  become  so  thoroughly  ingrained  into  our  na- 
tional life  that  it  is  little  short  of  a  fetish.  The  deliverances 
of  the  majority  have  gradually  taken  on  for  us  much  of  the 
indefectible  character  of  the  laws  of  nature.  To  challenge 
the  intelligence  or  the  finality  of  the  will  of  the  majority  is 
as  futile  as  to  get  into  an  argument  with  gravitation  or  to 
dispute  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes.  This  is  unquestionably 
the  most  powerful  because  the  most  subtle  form  of  the  tyranny 
of  the  average  man.  Through  this  fatalistic  regard  for  the 
will  of  the  multitude  the  average  man  becomes  for  all  practical 
purposes  our  democratic  apotheosis  of  wisdom.  His  power 
lies  in  his  very  intangibleness.  We  never  meet  him  face  to 
face;  we  can  never  corner  him  in  an  argument.  He  is  a 
spiritual  entity  and  dwells  only  in  the  souls  of  men,  and  yet 
his  omnipotent,  ubiquitous  hand  shapes  our  individual  des- 
tinies. The  sheer  massiveness  and  pervasiveness  of  his  influ- 


170      THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

ence  school  us  into  a  belief  in  his  infallibility.  No  moral 
alternatives  can  possibly  transcend  the  scope  of  his  con- 
sciousness. His  inclusiveness  is  our  guarantee  of  the  ultimate 
triumph  of  the  right.  Because  of  this  naive  religious  trust  in 
the  wisdom  of  the  average  man  the  American  citizen  goes  to 
the  polls,  casts  his  vote,  and  then  takes  a  "moral  holiday". 
His  peace  of  soul  is  seldom  disturbed  by  the  fact  that  he 
may  have  been  hopelessly  in  the  minority.  His  mental  at- 
titude is  aptly  paralleled  by  that  of  the  mediaeval  theologian 
who  was  willing  to  be  damned  for  the  glory  of  God. 

In  his  loyal  allegiance  to  the  will  of  the  majority  the 
American  is  merely  giving  expression  to  a  deeply  human 
characteristic.  For  the  vast  majority  of  men  it  is  far  more 
natural  to  obey  than  to  rebel.  Furthermore,  it  is  well  in  a 
great  community  still  earnestly  seeking  to  understand  itself 
and  distraught  by  the  strident  voices  of  conflicting  interests 
to  have  a  final  court  of  appeal.  Men  cannot  live  by  con- 
troversy and  argument  alone.  The  danger,  however,  lies 
not  in  the  repudiation  of  all  authority  but  in  too  much  ac- 
quiescence. Bryce  remarks  that  Americans  take  the  lateness 
of  a  railroad  train  or  the  delay  of  a  street  car  by  a  dray  in 
front  of  a  warehouse  door  far  more  complacently  than  Eng- 
lishmen. This  is  but  one  illustration  of  the  countless  ways 
in  which  the  habit  of  constant  acquiescence  to  the  will  of  the 
majority  tends  to  discourage  initiative  in  matters  of  public 
concern  and  to  place  the  average  American  at  the  mercy  of 
the  status  quo. 

Theoretically  we  have  a  free  press,  dedicated  to  the  un- 
trammelled expression  of  the  opinions  of  a  free  people.  But 
in  industrial  centers  where  the  controlling  forces  are  largely 
economic  our  great  dailies  either  voice  the  mind  of  the  pre- 
vailing economic  interests  or  are  content  for  the  most  part 
to  play  the  role  of  simple  purveyors  of  the  news.  If  we  wish 
critical  enlightenment  upon  these  questions  we  must  seek  it 
in  scientific  journals  or  in  the  columns  of  the  independent 
weekly  and  monthly  periodicals.  In  strongly  Protestant  com- 
munities objection  is  often  raised  to  the  appointment  of 


DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT  171 

Catholics  as  instructors  in  high  schools  and  state  institutions. 
The  popular  revivalist  in  a  community  mainly  Protestant  and 
Roman  Catholic  pours  out  his  religious  billingsgate  upon  the 
higher  critic  on  the  one  hand  and  the  outcast  Unitarian  on 
the  other,  knowing  full  well  that  both  are  personae  non  gratae 
to  the  majority  of  his  hearers.  Educators  are  familiar  with 
the  protest  against  the  teaching  of  evolution  and  similar 
"  heretical  "  doctrines  in  institutions  of  learning  on  the  ground 
that  they  are  contrary  to  the  prevailing  religious  convictions 
of  the  community.  Respect  for  the  belief  of  the  majority  is 
thus  allowed  to  tyrannize  over  the  thought  of  the  minority, 
violating  our  most  precious  traditions  of  spiritual  freedom. 

§  5.    DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT 

In  connection  with  the  death  of  John  Purroy  Mitchel,  who 
gave  to  New  York  City  as  mayor  a  most  efficient  administra- 
tion and  yet  was  defeated  for  reelection,  it  was  remarked, 
"  It  has  been  the  weakness  of  democracy  that  it  has  held 
clean  workmanship  in  contempt,  especially  in  public  service. 
Laziness  has  sometimes  appeared  to  rise  to  the  glory  of 
a  democratic  ideal;  slipshod  and  dishonest  workmanship 
to  the  fantastic  dignity  of  a  democratic  privilege.  The 
great  man  has  too  often  been  the  man  who  by  hook  or 
crook  got  enough  money  salted  away  to  live  in  idleness  ever 
after.  The  attempt  is  constantly  made  among  us  to  make 
efficiency  synonymous  with  autocracy.  We  have  failed  to  see 
that  the  difference  between  autocracy  and  democracy  is  not 
necessarily  in  the  instrument,  but  in  the  control  of  the  in- 
strument, that  if  democracy  fails  to  forge  and  use  instruments 
at  least  equally  well  adapted  to  the  ends  of  public  service  as 
the  instruments  devised  and  used  by  autocracy,  it  will  jeopar- 
dize its  own  existence  'V  To  this  may  be  added  the  words 
of  President  Lowell:  "Whether  popular  government  will 
endure  or  not  depends  upon  its  success  in  solving  its  prob- 
lems, and  among  these  none  is  more  insistent  than  the  question 
of  its  capacity  both  to  use  and  control  the  experts,  a  question 

1  The  New  Republic,  July  20,  1918. 


1 72     THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

closely  interwoven  with  the  nature,  the  expression,  and  the 
limitation  of  public  opinion  ".1 

For  his  own  moral  salvation  as  well  as  for  that  of  the 
community  the  average  man,  therefore,  must  make  his  peace 
with  the  expert.  If  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness,  efficiency 
is  next  to  public  morality.  In  the  eternal  struggle  of  our 
municipalities  against  the  encroachments  of  public  service  cor- 
porations what  avails  the  righteousness  of  their  cause  or  the 
vague  moral  sentiments  of  the  community  when  that  sentiment 
lacks  able  leadership  and  can  lay  its  hands  upon  no  effective 
machinery  for  giving  it  expression?  The  patient  and  oppressed 
municipality  with  its  poorly  paid  solicitor  who  holds  his 
position  at  the  will  of  politicians  is  no  match  for  the  brilliant 
galaxy  of  the  best  legal  talent  which  serves  the  corporation. 

The  average  man  in  American  democracy  is  afraid  of  the 
expert  for  several  reasons,  (a)  The  fear  of  bureaucracy  in- 
herited from  the  days  of  revolt  from  England  still  colors  our 
thinking.  The  use  of  the  expert  is  natural  for  a  monarchy 
and  for  all  forms  of  absolutism  but  arouses  the  suspicions  of 
traditional  democracy.  There  is  a  latent  fear  of  the  loss  of 
liberty  through  the  introduction  of  the  specialist,  (b)  The  ex- 
pert is  distrusted  because,  being  a  specialist  and  removed 
from  the  life  of  the  masses,  he  is  suspected  of  losing  touch  with 
those  fundamental  human  values  dear  to  the  average  man. 
This  is  perhaps,  from  the  standpoint  of  radical  democracy,  the 
most  justifiable  criticism  of  the  expert.  The  political  expert 
understands  how  to  parry  this  criticism  by  mingling  with  the 
people  and  creating  the  impression  that  he  is  in  thorough  sym- 
pathy with  them,  (c)  The  note  of  egalitarianism,  which  Faguet 
has  shown  to  be  so  antagonistic  to  efficiency,  has  been  promi- 
nent in  American  democracy  from  the  days  of  Jackson  and 
DeTocqueville.  It  insists  that  every  man  is  inherently  capable 
of  administering  the  affairs  of  the  people.  The  principle  of 
rotation  in  office  is  a  tacit  recognition  of  every  individual's 
right  to  share  in  public  affairs  in  so  far  as  possible.  Such  a 
policy  is  obviously  incompatible  with  efficiency  in  public  serv- 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  303. 


DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT  173 

ice.  (d)  The  universal  preference  for  the  "  good  "  man,  that 
is,  the  man  who  embodies  the  prevailing  conventional  ethical 
sentiments  of  the  community  as  opposed  to  the  intelligent 
and  skilful  man,  has  probably  done  as  much  as  anything  else 
to  dull  the  popular  mind  to  the  importance  of  the  expert. 

The  demand  that  the  man  in  touch  with  the  general  senti- 
ments of  the  social  conscience  be  preferred  to  the  man  who 
has  the  technical  knowledge  necessary  to  solve  social  prob- 
lems but  lacks  these  general  sentiments  is  natural  in  a  democ- 
racy. It  is  obvious,  however,  that  by  placing  the  merely 
"  good  "  but  otherwise  inefficient  man  in  positions  of  respon- 
sibility demanding  special  knowledge  we  may  defeat  the  very 
ends  sought  by  the  public.  For  the  furthering  of  public 
welfare  demands,  especially  in  our  highly  complex  modern  life, 
not  only  the  right  ethical  attitude  but  the  requisite  technical 
equipment  to  make  the  ideal  effective  in  the  situation  con- 
cerned. It  is  the  lack  of  this  special  equipment  that  has 
brought  the  merely  "  good  "  man  into  distinct  disrepute  as  a 
social  reformer. 

It  is  asserted,  however,  that  the  expert  savors  of  collectiv- 
ism and  that  collectivism  and  democracy  are  fundamentally 
incompatible.  "  The  ideal  of  democracy  ",  says  Dicey,  "  is 
government  for  the  good  of  the  people  by  the  people,  and  in 
accordance  with  the  wish  of  the  people;  the  ideal  of  collect- 
ivism is  government  for  the  good  of  the  people  by  experts, 
or  officials  who  know,  or  think  they  know,  what  is  good  for 
the  people  better  than  either  any  non-official  person  or  than 
the  mass  of  the  people  themselves  "  (op.  cit.,  p.  LXXIII).  The 
expert  emphasizes  science  and  a  more  or  less  thought-out 
social  philosophy.  The  democratic  average  man  emphasizes 
action  based  on  common  sense  which  if  short-sighted  is  appar- 
ently feasible  and  easy  of  apprehension.  Where  the  expert 
tries  to  force  upon  a  citizenship  trained  in  democratic  tradi- 
tions, laws  or  ideas  that  do  not  have  the  sanction  of  the  social 
conscience,  conflict  is  inevitable. 

Democracy,  we  are  told,  furthermore,  is  constantly  doing 
things  that  no  expert  would  sanction.  The  recent  socialistic 


174      THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

legislation  of  democratic  England  is  a  case  in  point.  The  Eng- 
lish trades  dispute  act  of  1906  declared  that  "  in  action  against 
a  trade  union,  whether  of  workmen  or  masters,  or  against  any 
members  or  officials  thereof  on  behalf  of  themselves  and  of 
other  members  of  the  trade  union  in  respect  of  any  tortuous  act, 
alleged  to  have  been  committed  by  or  on  behalf  of  the  trade 
union,  shall  not  be  entertained  by  any  court ".  This  was 
virtually  equivalent  to  conferring  upon  trade  unions  a  posi- 
tion of  protection  and  privilege  not  enjoyed  by  any  other 
group  of  persons  in  the  British  Empire.  From  the  standpoint 
of  the  expert  such  legislation  is  dangerous  and  yet  it  must 
stand  so  long  as  it  enjoys  the  sanction  of  the  social  conscience 
of  the  community.  It  proclaims  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  the 
fundamental  principle  of  a  democracy,  namely,  that  not  logical 
consistency  nor  social  theory  nor  even  abstract  equity  are  to 
decide  issues  but  the  deliverances  of  the  moral  sentiments  of 
the  masses  of  Englishmen.  In  spite  of  its  shortcomings  it  is 
claimed  that  democracy  must  register  the  will  of  the  people, 
with  all  its  variations  and  inconsistencies,  thereby  securing 
a  vital  and  organic  relation  between  the  inner  life  of  the  people 
and  their  government  to  an  extent  impossible  under  a  social- 
istic order.  The  judgment  of  democracy  will  not  always  be 
self-conscious  nor  free  from  sentimentalities  or  blunders,  but 
the  masses  of  men  will  feel  that  it  is  their  own  will  in  so 
far  as  that  can  find  expression  and  whatever  errors  or  short- 
comings this  judgment  may  reveal  can  be  corrected  by  the  same 
sovereign  master  who  made  the  mistake  in  the  first  place. 
The  average  man  is,  therefore,  not  willing  to  surrender  the  sov- 
ereign power  of  making  mistakes,  even  though  he  secures  the 
scientific  direction  of  the  expert.  So  runs  the  argument  for 
the  fundamental  incompatibility  between  democracy  and  the 
expert. 

It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  presence  of  the  expert  in  a 
democracy  raises  an  uncomfortable  dilemma.  Progress  de- 
mands scientific  method,  a  uniform  and  consistent  policy  and 
the  patient  striving  towards  a  definite  goal.  But  in  a  democ- 
racy law  and  method  and  plan  must  wait  upon  the  consent  of 


DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT  175 

the  people  for  their  realization.  The  people,  however,  are 
often  irrational  and  unscientific.  They  are  inclined  to  think 
in  concrete,  immediate,  unscientific  and  personal  terms. 
They  are  guided  more  often  by  feeling  than  by  cold  reason 
and  are  inclined  to  distrust  the  expert.  When  a  democ- 
racy selects  an  expert,  therefore,  it  would  appear  that  the 
will  of  the  people  is  appealed  to  for  the  authority  to  defeat 
the  will  of  the  people  if  that  should  be  necessary.  The 
difficulty  appears  in  the  solution  of  a  problem  such  as  divorce. 
For  the  democratic  average  man  marriage  is  essentially  a 
personal  relation,  a  contract  between  man  and  woman.  When 
the  spiritual  sympathy  and  affection  that  make  the  union  real 
are  gone  it  becomes  intolerable  and  a  source  of  great  unhappi- 
ness  and  social  friction.  Hence  we  find  democratic  countries 
granting  divorces  more  freely  than  others.  But  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  expert  the  dissolution  of  the  marriage  tie 
is  not  an  individual  matter.  There  are  principles  of  social 
welfare  at  stake  that  concern  all  and  which  in  every  progressive 
community  must  be  solved  in  a  scientific  and  large-minded 
fashion. 

What,  then,  should  be  the  relation  of  the  expert  to  the 
social  conscience  that  speaks  through  the  average  man?  Ob- 
viously the  expert  must  in  the  end  serve  the  moral  behests 
of  the  community.  But  he  must  not  be  placed  at  the  mercy 
of  the  fluctuations  of  public  sentiment.  The  expert  is  inter- 
ested primarily  in  the  scientific  and  technical  side  of  the  prob- 
lem. He  furnishes,  therefore,  just  that  special  knowledge 
needed  by  the  community  for  realizing  and  safeguarding 
the  values  that  make  life  tolerable.  The  community,  how- 
ever, must  utilize  this  special  knowledge  at  second  hand.  In 
other  words,  there  must  be  a  mediator  between  the  expert 
and  the  public.  This  mediator  should  be  in  touch  with  the 
general  drift  of  sentiment  of  the  community,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  should  possess,  on  the  other,  an  intelligent  appre- 
ciation of  the  place  and  function  of  the  expert.  The  trustees 
of  a  hospital  or  the  regents  of  a  great  university  should  faith- 
fully register  the  enlightened  sentiment  of  the  community  as 


176      THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

to  the  role  of  these  institutions;  they  should  indicate  in  a 
general  way  to  their  staffs  of  experts  what  those  ideals  are, 
but  they  should  leave  to  the  experts  the  technical  problems  of 
making  those  ideals  effective. 

Experts  are,  of  course,  of  various  kinds.  In  some  cases 
they  are  largely  figure-heads  who  register  in  a  more  or  less 
mechanical  fashion  the  will  of  the  community.  Others,  such 
as  surgeons,  judges,  or  health  officers,  furnish  the  community 
with  special  knowledge  which  it  must  use  in  order  to  give 
effective  expression  of  its  general  sense  of  justice.  The 
twelve  jurymen  selected  to  try  a  case  are  not  necessarily 
experts,  though  they  represent  the  social  conscience.  We  have 
here,  as  it  were,  a  segment  of  the  social  conscience  that  is 
made  to  do  duty  for  the  entire  community.  Technical  knowl- 
edge is  here  rather  a  hindrance  than  a  help.  What  is  sought  is 
an  unprejudiced  application  to  the  case  of  the  sane  and  un- 
sophisticated moral  sentiments  of  the  community.  Hence  the 
careful  elimination  of  prejudiced  individuals  or  of  those  who 
through  their  callings  or  otherwise  are  incapacitated  for  repre- 
senting the  healthy  moral  sense  of  the  community.  Every 
precaution  is  taken  to  secure  the  best  expression  of  this  moral 
sentiment.  The  jury  is  seated  apart;  only  that  evidence  is 
submitted  which  is  without  bias;  the  jurymen  are  protected 
from  outside  influence;  they  receive  a  solemn  final  charge 
from  the  judge;  their  verdict  must  be  unanimous;  if  there  is 
a  suspicion  of  anything  irregular  a  new  trial  is  granted. 

Back  of  the  jury  system,  which  dates  from  the  days  of 
democratic  Athens  and  seems  indeed  to  flourish  especially  in 
democracies,  is  the  underlying  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
there  are  registered  in  the  sentiments  of  the  average  citizens 
certain  fundamental  moral  categories  which  must  be  brought 
to  bear  in  all  their  simplicity  and  unprejudiced  truth  upon 
moral  issues  if  we  are  to  secure  justice.  In  a  sense  the  jury 
system  is  the  greatest  historical  monument  that  we  have  to 
the  importance  and  the  authoritativeness  of  the  social  con- 
science. 

The  efficiency  of  the  jury  system  depends  of  course  upon 


DEMOCRACY  AND  THE  EXPERT  177 

the  homogeneity  of  the  social  texture  and  the  uniform  recog- 
nition of  common  ethical  loyalties.  Some  interesting  questions 
might  be  asked,  however,  as  to  the  efficacy  of  the  jury  system 
where  there  is  great  diversity,  racially,  economically,  culturally, 
or  otherwise,  and  the  consequent  weakening  of  the  moral  like- 
mindedness  that  the  jury  system  presupposes.  From  the 
standpoint  of  social  psychology,  if  not  from  that  of  democracy 
and  the  ideals  of  the  Constitution,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for 
the  refusal  of  the  Southern  white  to  allow  the  negro  to  sit 
on  a  jury.  The  validity  of  the  jury  system  depends  in  a 
very  fundamental  sense  upon  the  existence  of  a  homogeneous 
and  enlightened  social  conscience  and  where  this  is  lacking, 
as  is  the  case  in  the  "  black  belt "  of  the  South,  a  jury  system 
to  which  all  members  of  the  community  are  admitted  indis- 
criminately might  become  a  legal  farce  or  a  downright  menace 
to  social  justice.  The  question  may  also  be  raised  as  to 
whether  our  time-honored  jury  system,  with  its  associations 
of  racial  homogeneity  and  uniform  ethical  traditions  drawn 
from  Anglo-Saxon  England,  can  be  applied  with  entire  success 
to  the  polyglot  communities  of  our  large  cities  and  industriarl 
centers  where  neither  racial  homogeneity  nor  continuity  of 
ethical  traditions  exist. 

Finally,  there  are  limitations  of  the  social  conscience  aris- 
ing from  the  peculiarities  of  human  nature  itself.  Funda- 
mental impulses  connected  with  sex,  race,  property,  and  the 
like  are  easily  aroused  under  certain  situations  and  often  make 
an  effective  public  sentiment  impossible.  It  is  more  than  likely 
that  any  radical  attempt  to  create  a  public  sentiment  that 
would  sanction  the  elimination  of  the  institution  of  private 
property  would  be  shipwrecked  upon  the  fundamental  prop- 
erty instinct.  It  has  happened  that  laws  dealing  with  eugenics 
and  based  apparently  upon  scientific  principles  have  come  to 
naught  because  not  in  harmony  with  fundamental  impulses 
connected  with  sex.  Not  even  the  enactment  of  the  Four- 
teenth Amendment,  the  bill  of  rights,  and  the  bayonet  rule  of 
Reconstruction  sufficed  to  lay  a  basis  for  a  public  sentiment 
m  the  South  strong  enough  to  override  the  instinctive  antipath- 


i78     THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

ies  associated  with  race.  In  other  words,  the  extent  to  which 
a  vigorous  and  effective  social  conscience  can  be  developed 
is  delimited  by  the  peculiarities  of  that  original  equipment 
of  human  instincts  that  provides  the  raw  materials  for  moral 
sentiments.  Needless  agitation  of  subjects  that  challenge 
these  instincts  tends  to  undermine  social  institutions.  A  demo- 
cratic order  that  would  avoid  unnecessary  shocks  and  eliminate 
inevitable  friction  and  waste  of  social  energies  must  frankly 
recognize  these  instinctive  forces  that  delimit  the  sphere 
within  which  we  can  hope  for  an  efficient  social  conscience. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

BRYCE:  American  Commonwealth,  Chs.  84,  85;  DICEY:  Law  and  Public 
Opinion  in  England,  pp.  XXIII-XCIV :  FAGUET,  EMILE:  The  Cult  of 
Incompetence,  1912;  LOWELL,  A.  L. :  Public  Opinion  and  Popular  Gov- 
ernment, Chs.  3,  4,  16-19. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

§  i.   AMBIGUITY  OF  THE  TERM  PROGRESS 

MORAL  progress  as  an  ethical  postulate  or  a  belief  prerequisite 
to  a  healthful  and  progressive  moral  life  is  constantly  being 
confused  with  moral  progress  as  a  fact  in  the  history  of 
morals.  The  problem  of  moral  progress,  therefore,  suffers 
from  the  disabilities  peculiar  to  such  problems  as  freedom 
of  the  will,  immortality,  or  good  and  evil.  The  demands 
of  human  nature  have  weighted  the  scales  in  favor  of  an 
affirmative  answer.  An  unbiased  and  scientific  attitude  to- 
wards any  problem  implies  a  willingness  to  face  all  the 
facts  and  abide  by  whatever  conclusions  they  indicate. 
But  the  world  has  always  refused  to  listen  to  the  moral  pes- 
simist, scientific  or  otherwise,  and  that  not  without  good 
reasons.  For,  obviously,  no  incentive  to  moral  effort,  not 
even  the  moral  order  itself,  would  long  endure  in  any  com- 
munity, the  members  of  which  had  been  convinced  that  moral 
progress  neither  exists  nor  is  possible.  The  moral  pessimist 
is  tolerated  because  he  is  hopelessly  in  the  minority.  There 
may  be  a  semblance  of  justification  for  him  in  the  salutary 
check  he  exercises  upon  the  exuberant  and  undisciplined  moral 
enthusiasms  of  his  fellows.  Men  often  find  him  interesting, 
sometimes  they  pity  him,  uniformly  they  discredit  him  be- 
cause his  conclusions  are  patently  incompatible  with  the 
demands  of  life. 

The  question  of  moral  progress  has  also  suffered  from  the 
illusions  that  have  always  beset  the  question  of  progress  in 
general.  The  sheer  fact  of  change  has  been  mistaken  for 
progress.  This  is  due  mainly  to  the  mobility  of  our  modern 
world  and  the  unparalleled  liberation  of  energies  giving  us  the 

control  over  time  and  space  and  the  production  and  distribu- 

179 


i8o  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

tion  of  material  and  intellectual  goods.  We  have  been  taught 
that  the  international  ties  born  of  commercial  and  industrial 
development,  the  financial  necessities  arising  from  a  world- 
wide credit,  the  costliness  and  destructive  nature  of  scientific 
warfare,  not  to  mention  the  effects  of  science  and  art  upon 
human  relations,  have  combined  to  create  a  progressive  civili- 
zation in  which  war  is  impossible.  To-day  we  are  sadly  disillu- 
sioned because  we  failed  to  see  that  mere  change  or  increased 
facilities  for  change  do  not  insure  progress.  Progress,  and  es- 
pecially moral  progress,  is  something  that  must  be  achieved. 
It  does  not  follow  automatically  upon  the  skilful  mastery 
of  the  economic  or  mechanical  instrumentalities  for  the  satis- 
faction of  human  needs.  It  implies  a  goal,  a  plan  of  socially 
constructive  work. 

Again  the  triumph  of  the  theory  of  evolution  in  modern 
thought  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  spread  of  an  illusory 
notion  of  progress.  We  have  smuggled  in  under  the  notion  of 
evolution  as  a  cosmic  force  all  the  old  complacent  optimism 
associated  with  the  great  idealists  or  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  Providence.  Evolution  has  filled  us  with  the  conceit  that 
we  are  the  heirs  of  all  the  ages.  It  has  encouraged  a  senti- 
mental and  shallow  attitude  that  inclines  us  to  take  a  "  moral 
holiday  "  which  we  have  not  earned.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
show  that  evolution,  whether  biologic,  social,  or  moral,  cannot 
be  identified  with  progress.  In  fact  one  of  the  earliest  and 
most  brilliant  of  the  exponents  of  evolution  arrives  at  thor- 
oughly pessimistic  conclusions  when  he  comes  to  discuss  the 
selective  effects  of  social  environment  upon  moral  progress.1 

§  2.   THEORIES  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

It  is  possible  to  state  the  problem  of  moral  progress  from 
three  different  points  of  view.  Since  we  have  to  do  with 
character  primarily  we  may  seek  to  measure  progress  in  terms 
of  the  absolute  improvement  in  the  moral  fiber  of  the  race. 
The  criteria  of  progress  in  this  case  will  be  found  in  the  con- 
stitution of  human  nature  itself.  It  is  possible,  furthermore, 

1  Wallace,  Social  Environment  and  Moral  Progress,  pp.  36,  153. 


THEORIES  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS  181 

that  progress  may  be  a  matter  of  a  clearer  insight  into  the 
nature  of  the  moral  experience.  This  is  the  contention  for  the 
most  part  of  the  idealists  from  the  days  of  Plato  to  T.  H. 
Green.  Finally  there  have  been  thinkers  who  have  felt  that 
moral  progress  is  essentially  a  social  matter.  For,  given  the 
fixed  hereditary  endowment  of  instincts  and  emotions,  moral 
advance  is  largely  a  question  of  shaping  this  through  the  social 
setting.  Certainly  for  the  Greeks  moral  progress  presupposed 
the  peculiar  institutions  of  the  ancient  city-state  of  which 
Athens  was  the  type.  Hence  it  is  possible  to  find  the  criterion 
of  moral  progress  in  the  harmony  of  interests,  the  intelligent 
balancing  of  contending  wills  in  the  social  order.  In  this  sense 
moral  progress  is  the  last  and  supreme  test  of  social  progress. 

Theories  of  moral  progress  based  upon  the  notion  of  abso- 
lute improvement  in  the  constitution  of  human  nature  are  the 
most  difficult  to  support.  Moral  progress  is  now  no  longer 
considered  as  involving  the  elimination  of  an  hereditary  taint 
in  the  instinctive  equipment  through  original  sin  or  other- 
wise, as  was  taught  by  Christian  theologians,  Tertullian, 
Augustine,  or  John  Calvin.  We  have  little  to  support  the 
contention  that  the  moral  character  of  the  race  has  been 
improved  through  the  selective  influence  of  war,  eliminating 
the  pugnacious  and  bloodthirsty  and  preserving  the  peaceful 
and  sympathetic  types.  The  instinctive  equipment  is  in  fact 
neither  moral  nor  immoral.  It  is  unmoral  or  only  potentially 
moral.  Hence  we  cannot  say  that  sympathy  or  the  tender 
emotions  are  any  more  or  any  less  ethical  than  the  fighting 
instinct.  Moral  progress  is  not  a  matter  of  cultivating  the  one 
and  of  eliminating  the  other.  The  problem  of  moral  progress 
arises  only  when  we  face  the  question  of  rationalizing  and 
socializing  this  instinctive  equipment. 

Granting  the  assumption  of  absolute  idealism  that  there  is 
a  general  drift  towards  moral  betterment  running  through  the 
centuries,  we  find  the  problem  of  measuring  that  drift  exceed- 
ingly difficult.  We  have  little  tangible  evidence  of  an  "  orderly 
improvement  on  a  great  scale  ".  Let  us  take  the  status  of 
woman  as  a  test.  In  the  English  law  of  Blackstone's  day,  who 


182  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

published  his  Commentaries  on  the  Laws  oj  England  in  1765- 
68,  "  A  married  woman  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  a 
legal  personality  ",  says  Hobhouse,  "  so  great  is  the  number  of 
her  disqualifications  as  to  holding  of  property,  as  to  capacity 
to  give  evidence,  as  to  the  custody  of  her  children,  even  as  to 
her  legal  responsibility  for  crimes;  and  many  of  these  dis- 
qualifications lasted  on  down  to  the  present  generation.  If 
we  turn  to  the  oldest  code  of  laws  in  the  world,  the  recently 
discovered  laws  of  Hammurabi,  we  shall  find  that  few  of 
these  disqualifications  applied  to  married  women  in  Babylonia 
some  2,000  years  before  Christ;  yet  it  would  be  unfair  to  infer 
that  the  civilization  of  England  in  the  eighteenth  and  nine- 
teenth centuries  was  on  the  whole  inferior  to  that  of  Babylonia 
in  the  third  millennium  before  Christ  ".*  These  and  other  facts 
of  history  seem  to  show  that  in  so  far  as  moral  improvement 
is  a  reality  it  appears  to  be  irregular,  spasmodic,  local;  moral 
advance  in  one  respect  is  often  accompanied  by  moral  deterior- 
ation in  other  respects. 

It  is  doubtful,  furthermore,  whether  we  can  establish  un- 
equivocally the  idealistic  thesis  that  the  highly  developed  civili- 
zations are  the  most  moral  or  that  the  conditions  making  for 
the  development  of  society  always  make  for  the  improvement 
of  moral  character.  The  industrial  revolution  that  laid  the 
basis  for  England's  commercial  supremacy  was  purchased  at 
the  price  of  a  moral  deterioration  of  her  lower  classes  from 
which  she  has  hardly  yet  recovered.  At  no  period  of  our 
national  history  has  material  prosperity  been  so  great  or  the 
accumulation  of  wealth  so  rapid  as  during  the  last  generation. 
Yet  a  recent  writer  remarks,  "  During  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century  general  relaxation  of  American  moral  fiber  has  un- 
questionably been  taking  place;  and  in  spite  of  the  increasing 
use  of  disciplinary  measures,  the  process  of  relaxation  has 
not  as  yet  been  fairly  checked  ".2  It  can  hardly  be  denied  that 
the  tremendous  pitch  of  scientific,  economic  and  political  ad- 
vancement to  which  Prussian  statecraft  brought  modern  Ger- 

1  Morals  in  Evolution,  p.  31  f. 

2  H.  Croly,  Progressive  Democracy,  p.  207. 


THEORIES  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS  183 

many  has  been  accompanied  by  an  insidious  poisoning  of  the 
very  fountain  heads  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  life  of  the  na- 
tion.1 

Finally,  the  various  criteria  of  moral  progress  that  have 
been  sought  by  the  idealists  in  the  general  traits  of  the  ma- 
ture moral  character  have  at  best  merely  a  formal  or  meta- 
physical value.  They  do  not  offer  us  a  practical  test  of 
moral  progress.  These  characteristics  are,  to  be  sure,  rela- 
tively permanent  in  moral  experience.  The  mature  moral 
character,  for  example,  always  takes  on  the  form  of  self- 
realization  or  self-perfection;  it  suggests  authoritative  and 
categorical  forms  of  group  experience  and  tradition  that  may 
very  easily  be  identified  with  an  absolute  moral  order.  But 
Kant's  famous  doctrine  of  an  innate  principle,  a  will  that  is 
good  absolutely  in  and  of  itself,  which  reflects  the  moral 
economy  of  the  universe,  is  an  ethical  fiction.  For  obviously  a 
will  is  good  only  as  it  functions  in  a  certain  social  situation 
and  this  varies  with  the  individual  and  with  the  age.  The 
good  will  demanded  by  the  famous  regula  of  Benedict  of 
Nursia  (480-543  A.D.)  can  hardly  be  identified  with  the  good 
will  outlined  in  Plato's  Republic  or  in  Calvin's  Institutes. 
Good  in  every  case  is  a  function  of  the  social  order  in  which 
the  individual  lives. 

The  most  profound  and  metaphysically  sustained  attempt 
of  recent  times  at  a  theory  of  moral  progress  measured  in 
terms  of  self-realization  gives  the  impression  of  an  argument 
that  is  eternally  doubling  back  upon  itself.  We  are  told,  "  It 
is  the  consciousness  of  possibilities  in  ourselves,  unrealized 
but  constantly  in  process  of  realization,  that  alone  enables  us 
to  read  the  idea  of  development  into  what  we  observe  of 
natural  life,  and  to  conceive  that  there  must  be  such  a  thing 
as  a  plan  of  the  world  ".  To  be  sure,  we  can  never  formulate 
accurately  and  finally  this  ultimate  criterion  of  moral  prog- 
ress. "  Of  a  life  of  completed  development,  of  activity  with 
the  end  attained,  we  can  only  speak  or  think  in  negatives, 
and  thus  only  can  we  speak  or  think  of  that  state  of  being  in 

1  This  is  the  thesis  of  Holmes'  brilliant  work,  The  Nemesis  of  Docility. 


1 84  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

which,  according  to  our  theory,  the  ultimate  moral  good  must 
consist.  Yet  the  conviction  that  there  must  be  such  a  state 
of  being,  merely  negative  as  is  our  theoretical  apprehension  of 
it,  may  have  supreme  influence  over  conduct,  in  moving  us 
to  that  effort  after  the  Better  which,  at  least  as  a  conscious 
effort,  implies  the  conviction  of  there  being  a  Best  'V 

Starting  with  the  idea  or  rather  the  postulate  of  moral 
betterment,  which  we  have  seen  to  be  inseparable  from  the 
moral  experience,  Green  projects  this  idea  into  the  universe 
and  makes  it  part  of  an  eternal  plan,  an  infinite  moral  process, 
that  centers  in  the  divine  consciousness.  This  comprehensive 
plan  is  then  brought  down  to  earth  again  and  made  to  do 
duty  as  the  measure  of  progress  in  that  immediate  moral 
experience  from  which  this  infinite  plan  is  inferred.  Even 
granting  the  logical  validity  of  such  reasoning  it  has  little 
practical  significance  for  the  problem  of  moral  progress.  The 
reality  of  moral  progress  is  not  to  be  inferred  from  the  postu- 
late or  the  ideal  of  moral  improvement.  For  moral  progress 
is  a  question  of  fact.  We  must  seek  our  test  for  its  validity 
in  the  actual  history  of  morality  rather  than  in  metaphysics. 

Of  all  the  moral  philosophers  the  hedonists  have  doubtless 
suggested  the  measure  of  moral  progress  that  has  appealed 
most  strongly  to  the  masses  of  men.  "  A  constant  and  steady 
attempt  to  get  rid  of  the  misery-causing,  and  to  encourage  the 
happiness-causing  activities  ",  says  Stephen,  "  is  the  condition 
of  all  moral  progress.  In  order  to  modify  any  moral  law 
or  any  social  arrangement,  we  try  to  show  that  it  actually 
causes  some  misery,  and  that  its  modification  would  produce 
more  happiness.  I  do  not  see  that  any  other  mode  of  argu- 
ment has  ever  any  real  efficiency.  The  actual  progress  in 
morality  is  always  determined  at  every  point  by  utilitarian 
considerations  ".  To  this  it  may  be  replied  that  happiness, 
in  the  sense  of  "  pleasure  and  the  absence  of  pain  ",  is  always 
an  indication  of  a  real  or  imagined  well-being.  The  function 
of  feeling  is  to  furnish  this  immediate  indication  of  organic 
welfare.  But,  as  Green  has  shown  in  the  case  of  his  hedonistic 

1  T.  H.  Green,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  203. 


INSIGHT  AND  MORAL  PROGRESS  185 

drunkard,  this  feeling  of  the  agreeable  gives  us  no  hint  of  the 
moral  worth  of  the  state  that  elicits  it  nor  does  it  provide  any 
reliable  criterion  for  comparing  this  experience  with  others  past 
or  future. 

This  limitation  of  hedonism  has  been  acknowledged  by 
some  of  the  leading  defenders  of  this  philosophy.  "  The  com- 
mon rule  ",  says  Stephen,  "  is  that  each  organism  is  better 
as  it  obeys  the  conditions  of  health,  but  we  cannot  find  any 
common  rule  upon  the  happiness,  the  standard  of  which 
changes  as  the  organism  itself  changes  ".  As  new  desires  or 
new  habits  are  acquired,  the  feelings  of  the  agreeable  that 
accompany  these  function  in  new  situations  with  new  ends. 
The  most  that  the  hedonist  can  claim,  therefore,  is,  "  Given  a 
certain  stage  of  social  development,  the  society  will  be  in  a 
healthier  state  and  the  general  happiness  greater  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  moral.  But  since  the  happiness  itself  changes  as 
the  society  develops,  we  cannot  compare  the  two  societies  at 
different  stages  as  if  they  were  more  or  less  efficient  machines 
for  obtaining  an  identical  product  ".*• 

§  3.   INSIGHT  AND  MORAL  PROGRESS 

The  most  indisputable  evidences  of  moral  advancement  are 
found  by  many  in  our  better  understanding  of  what  the 
moral  problem  involves.2  The  first  step  towards  the  solution 
of  the  moral  problem,  as  Socrates  saw  long  since,  is  insight 
or  the  intellectual  grasp  of  what  the  problem  means.  We 
need  not  go  as  far  as  did  this  great  teacher  and  identify  in- 
sight with  the  very  essence  of  the  moral  situation.  But  ob- 
viously an  understanding  of  the  content  of  the  moral  experi- 
ence is  a  decided  gain  to  the  moral  reformer.  We  have  but 
to  compare  modern  scientific  formulations  of  the  ethical  cate- 
gories with  those  of  the  Greeks  to  see  how  great  that  advance 
has  been.  The  many  intensive  and  critical  analyses  of  the 
moral  life  which  are  now  at  our  disposal  do  not  assure  moral 
progress  in  the  absolute  sense.  Knowledge  of  righteousness  is 

1  The  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  354  f. 
2  Hobhouse,  op.  cit.,  p.  34  f.,  Fowler,  Progressive  Morality,  p.  81. 


i86  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

not  a  guarantee  of  greater  righteousness  in  human  affairs.  It 
enlightens  us  as  to  what  moral  progress  means  and  places  in 
our  hands  more  efficient  instruments  for  its  attainment. 

Moral  insight  grows  through  moral  experience.  Moral  wis- 
dom is  the  accumulated  and  chastened  knowledge  gained 
through  contacts  with  men  and  things.  History  shows  that 
men  get  a  better  understanding  of  moral  questions  directly 
in  proportion  to  the  richness  and  variety  of  the  demands 
made  upon  them  for  social  adjustment.  The  test  of  the 
truth  of  moral  ideas  must  be  sought  in  the  extent  to  which 
they  enable  men  in  a  given  social  situation  to  eliminate  their 
differences  and  to  attain  the  most  harmonious  and  fruitful 
human  relationships.  The  social  conscience  is  true  and  worth- 
while in  so  far  as  it  makes  possible  the  best  social  equilibrium. 
By  observing,  therefore,  how  moral  sentiment  is  formed  on  any 
issue,  how  it  functions,  and  what  factors  are  involved,  we 
may  understand  the  relationship  of  insight  to  moral  prog- 
ress. 

Dicey  thus  describes  the  rise  of  the  moral  sentiment  which 
has  found  expression  in  England  during  the  last  few  decades 
in  a  remarkable  series  of  legislative  acts  bettering  the  status 
of  the  worker.  "  For  the  last  sixty  years  and  more,  the 
needs  and  sufferings  of  the  poor  have  been  thrust  upon  the 
knowledge  of  the  middle-class  Englishman.  There  are  persons 
still  living  who  can  recall  the  time  when  about  sixty  years 
ago  the  Morning  Chronicle  in  letters  on  London  Labour  and 
the  London  Poor  revealed  to  the  readers  of  high-class,  and 
then  dear,  newspapers  the  miserable  conditions  of  the  poor 
wage-earners  of  London.  These  letters  at  once  aroused  the 
sympathy  and  called  forth  the  aid  of  Maurice  and  the  Chris- 
tian Socialists.  For  sixty  years  novelists,  newspaper  writers, 
and  philanthropists  have  alike  brought  the  condition  of  the 
poor  constantly  before  the  eyes  of  their  readers  or  disciples. 
The  desire  to  ease  the  sufferings,  to  increase  the  pleasures,  and 
to  satisfy  the  best  aspirations  of  the  mass  of  wage-earners  has 
become  a  marked  characteristic  of  the  wealthy  class  of  Eng- 
lishmen. This  sentiment  of  active  good  will,  stimulated  no 


INSIGHT  AND  MORAL  PROGRESS  187 

doubt  by  ministers  of  religion,  has  spread  far  and  wide  among 
laymen,  e.g.,  lawyers,  merchants,  and  others  not  specially 
connected  with  any  one  religious,  theological,  or  political 
party  ".* 

To  this  process  of  gradual  organization  of  public  senti- 
ment through  conscious  reflection,  suggestion,  example,  and 
otherwise  must  be  added  other  factors.  The  triumph  of  the 
machine  process  and  the  rise  of  the  great  modern  industrial 
order  gave  birth  to  a  feeling  of  social  solidarity  and  inter- 
dependence of  public  and  private,  of  individual  and  corporate 
interests.  This  sense  of  solidarity  was  heightened  by  the 
spread  of  the  spirit  of  freedom  and  of  democracy  through 
the  emancipation  of  the  slave  and  the  extension  of  Parliamen- 
tary suffrage.  The  moral  atmosphere  was  further  intensified 
by  many  cross-currents,  such  as  the  growing  industrial  dis- 
content, the  rise  of  trade  unions,  the  clash  of  the  socialistic 
movement  with  time  honored  laissez  faire  doctrines,  increased 
taxation  and  the  inherent  antagonisms  between  traditional 
democracy  and  collectivism. 

By  what  criteria  do  we  adjudge  this  to  be  a  case  of  moral 
progress?  (a)  In  its  last  analysis  moral  progress  is  a  matter 
of  social  adjustment.  The  outstanding  trait  of  the  status  of 
the  worker  was  social  maladjustment.  In  this  felt  need  of  a 
better  social  equilibrium  lies  the  very  fons  et  origo  of  the 
moral  problem.  Moral  progress  is  primarily  a  matter  of  its 
elimination,  (b)  The  agency  through  which  this  social  adjust- 
ment takes  place  is  reason.  Social  pressure  compelled  discus- 
sion and  reflection  resulting  in  deeper  insight  into  the  problem. 
The  function  of  reason  is  to  further  adjustment,  to  ward  off 
evil,  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  the  individual  or  the  social 
organism.  Reason  has  banished  witchcraft,  mastered  disease, 
alleviated  pain,  softened  the  rigors  of  climate,  prevented 
famine  and  pestilence.  What  reason  has  accomplished  in  fur- 
thering adjustment  to  the  physical  environment  is  but  an 
earnest  of  greater  things  to  be  done  in  the  control  of  social 
forces.  As  a  factor  in  moral  progress  reason's  role  is  three- 
1  Opt.  cit.,  p.  LXII. 


i&8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

fold.  It  must  socialize  human  conduct  by  pointing  the  way 
to  the  subordination  of  narrow  individual  interests  to  compre- 
hensive social  interests;  it  must  ennoble  life  in  the  old  Aris- 
totelian sense  of  making  supreme  the  distinctively  human  note; 
above  all  it  must  help  us  to  introduce  into  all  our  activities 
sweet  reasonableness,  (c)  The  third  factor  in  the  problem  of 
the  status  of  the  worker  in  English  society  was  that  of  irra- 
tionality as  seen  in  the  stupid  pull  and  haul  of  social  forces, 
an  irrationality  that  persists  even  in  the  face  of  the  conquests 
of  reason.  For  an  irrational  element,  whether  due  to  human 
stupidity  or  to  the  inherent  constitution  of  things,  always  dogs 
the  skirts  of  every  great  social  issue.  There  was  no  group 
of  individuals  in  England  who  had  set  about  maliciously  to 
persecute  and  oppress  the  worker.  The  lamentable  conditions 
of  the  wage-earners  had  come  about  for  the  most  part  through 
the  sheer  stress  of  social  forces.  The  social  process  is  the 
result  of  a  vast  complex  of  forces,  directed  in  part  by  the  will 
of  man,  but  moving  forward  also  in  part  glacier-like,  through 
the  sheer  irrational  urge  of  its  own  ponderous  inertia.  Men 
are  always  faced  with  change,  a  ceaseless  and  inevitable  social 
flux.  Society,  like  all  living  things,  is  never  static.  What  is 
the  significance  of  change  for  the  problem  of  moral  progress? 

§  4.   THE  INEVITABLENESS  OF  CHANGE 

It  must  be  remarked  first  that  change  is  inevitable.  So 
much  did  this  impress  Heraclitus,  and  his  modern  disciple 
Bergson,  that  they  make  change  the  essence  of  reality.  The 
inevitableness  of  change  appears  even  in  the  sphere  of  morals. 
Where  we  deal  with  active  and  intelligent  wills  every  act,  good 
or  bad,  brings  about  a  need  for  readjustment.  For  every  act 
that  is  not  purely  habitual  or  instinctive  causes  a  dislocation  of 
our  relations  to  other  people  and  makes  necessary  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  new  equilibrium.  The  dislocating  effects  of  our 
acts  move  through  society  as  ripples  move  over  the  surface  of  a 
lake,  the  more  socially  significant  the  act  the  larger  the  dis- 
turbance. A  community  of  active,  moral  beings  assures  to  us, 
therefore,  a  mobile  rather  than  a  static  moral  order.  The 


THE    INEVITABLENESS  OF  CHANGE  189 

more  strong  willed  and  active  the  members  of  the  community 
the  greater  the  dynamic  character  of  the  moral  situation. 

Change,  then,  is  inherent  in  the  very  structure  of  the  moral 
life.  Every  good  act  ceases  to  be  a  good  act  by  virtue  of  its 
performance.  It  passes  from  the  realm  of  moral  effort  into  the 
past  and  becomes  a  moral  fact.  Time,  in  ethics  as  elsewhere, 
makes  ancient  good  uncouth.  For  the  sheer  sequence  of  events 
creates  moral  maladjustments.  On  the  heels  of  the  good  act 
completed  rise  new  moral  issues.  The  good  act  at  any  one  stage 
is  the  one  that  is  most  successful  in  restoring  the  disturbed 
equilibrium  though  the  goodness  of  this  act  becomes  super- 
fluous and  antiquated  the  moment  it  is  consummated.  The  new 
elements  in  the  situations  they  have  created  prevent  us  from  re- 
peating mechanically  the  good  acts  of  yesterday.  The  ethical 
significance  of  Lincoln's  Emancipation  Proclamation  lay  in  the 
fact  that  at  that  particular  stage  it  met  the  political  and  moral 
needs  of  a  distraught  nation.  But  the  freeing  of  the  slave 
gave  rise  to  many  new  issues  in  connection  with  reconstruction 
in  which  further  acts  of  this  sort  were  superfluous.  Moral 
progress,  therefore,  need  not  be  taken  in  any  absolute  sense 
of  approximation  to  a  perfectly  righteous  society.  The 
morally  "  better  "  is  that  which  meets  more  successfully  than 
old  ideals  the  demands  of  the  immediate  and  unique  present 
for  the  adjustment  of  conflicting  elements. 

The  inevitableness  of  change  is  illustrated  also  by  the 
nature  of  the  moral  judgment  whether  we  take  it  in  the 
sense  of  the  individual  judgment  or  of  the  "  organic  social 
judgment "  pronounced  by  the  social  conscience.  The  predi- 
cate of  every  judgment  is  composed  of  an  organized  body  of 
moral  sentiments  accumulated  through  past  experience.  In 
the  case  of  the  social  conscience  this  common  organization  of 
moral  sentiments  functions  as  the  element  of  control  in  the 
judgment;  it  provides  the  measure  of  values.  But  every  judg- 
ment that  is  in  any  sense  critical  and  constructive  involves 
the  integration  of  new  elements  of  experience  with  this  mass 
of  organized  sentiments  by  which  the  new  data  are  judged. 
In  the  very  act  of  pronouncing  judgment,  therefore,  the  social 


igo  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

conscience  is  modified;  it  is  forced  to  adjust  itself  to  new 
elements.  This  new  synthesis,  then,  furnishes  a  point  of  de- 
parture for  the  criticism  of  older  loyalties  and  thus  creates 
a  new  series  of  problems.  Men  become  conscious  of  social 
maladjustments  that  were  unknown  before.  Moral  progress 
is  primarily  a  matter  of  the  progressive  awareness  of  social 
injustices. 

The  great  ideals  of  justice,  that  first  found  expression  in 
American  democracy  in  the  bills  of  rights,  the  Declaration 
and  finally  the  Constitution,  were  limited  to  political  rights 
affecting  the  whites  only  and  those  for  the  most  part  of  the 
property-owning  group.  Lecky  alludes  sarcastically  to  "  the 
grotesque  absurdity  of  slave-owners  signing  a  Declaration  of 
Independence  which  asserted  the  inalienable  right  of  every  man 
to  liberty  and  equality ".  Only  a  few  men  like  Jefferson 
felt  the  moral  inconsistency.  But  in  time,  as  the  life  of  the 
nation  became  more  intense  and  the  issue  was  drawn  between 
the  free  industrial  democracy  of  the  North  and  the  aristo- 
cratic white-man  democracy  of  the  South,  the  implications  of 
the  earlier  principles  of  freedom  were  applied  in  an  increas- 
ingly conscious  and  critical  fashion  to  the  wrong  of  slavery. 
Later  the  spirit  of  humanitarianism  and  of  social  justice  born 
of  the  struggle  with  slavery  furnished  a  new  point  of  de- 
parture in  the  struggle  for  industrial  democracy,  the  rights  of 
woman  and  the  child-worker,  the  elimination  of  the  drink  evil 
and  the  white  slave  traffic.  It  is  literally  true  that  the  social 
conscience  of  a  nation  rises  on  the  stepping  stones  of  its  dead 
selves  to  higher  things. 

§  5.   CHANGE  AND  IRRATIONALITY 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  change  is  an  ineradicable 
element.  Is  it  inimical  to  moral  progress?  Change  pure 
and  simple  is  not  necessarily  an  evil.  It  is  the  irrational, 
the  uncontrollable,  the  unpredictable  element  in  change  that 
is  the  arch  enemy  of  all  progress  of  whatever  kind.  It  must 
be  admitted  frankly  that  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  irra- 
tional and  the  uncontrollable  seem  to  belong  to  the  eternal 


CHANGE  AND  IRRATIONALITY  191 

order  of  things.  The  vast  shifts  of  population  that  flooded 
the  decadent  civilization  of  ancient  Rome  were  directly 
responsible  for  the  confusion  and  moral  retrogression  that  fol- 
lowed, and  yet  the  blame  cannot  be  laid  at  the  door  of  human 
stupidity  and  lack  of  foresight.  The  conditions  of  moral 
betterment  are  often  sorely  jeopardized  by  storm,  earthquake, 
disease,  changes  in  food  supply,  sudden  social  upheavals,  or 
unforeseen  alterations  in  the  manner  of  life.  These  forces  lie, 
for  the  most  part,  beyond  human  control  and  are  a  fruitful 
source  of  uncertainty  and  confusion. 

Even  in  the  sphere  of  human  endeavor  moral  progress  is 
affected  by  elements  that  seem  to  escape  our  control.  Man, 
as  an  intelligent  and  creative  being,  is  constantly  liberat- 
ing forces,  initiating  movements,  the  results  of  which  he 
cannot  foresee  or  even  direct.  It  can  hardly  be  said  that  the 
far-reaching  effects  upon  the  morals  of  England  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  of  the  inventions  of  Hargreaves,  Cartwright, 
Watts,  and  others,  that  made  possible  the  industrial  revolution, 
were  even  faintly  imagined  by  the  inventors.  How  far  were 
the  moral  sentiments  of  North  and  South  on  the  slavery  issue 
the  result  of  cold  logic  and  how  far  the  product  of  unfore- 
seen and  largely  irrational  forces?  But  for  the  unforeseen 
invention  of  the  cotton  gin  and  improvements  in  cotton  manu- 
facture and  the  consequent  opening  up  to  slavery  of  the  great 
southwestern  area  now  known  as  the  "  black  belt ",  the  eco- 
nomic and  social  forces  at  work  at  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  would  have  paved  the  way  to  the  peaceable 
emancipation  of  the  slave. 

Even  within  the  strictly  ethical  sphere  ideals  and  plans 
for  reform,  after  they  have  once  gained  acceptance  and  social 
headway,  seem  to  work  out  their  own  results  under  the  pressure 
of  circumstances.  Ethical  ideals  have  a  way  of  escaping  from 
the  logical  straitjackets  of  their  original  formulation.  The 
slow  trituration  of  the  social  process  succeeds  in  time  in  break- 
ing down  their  logical  shell.  They  often  become  distorted 
through  the  sheer  pull  and  haul  of  social  and  economic  forces. 
The  doctrine  of  natural  rights,  for  example,  provided  Charles 


i92  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

Sumner  with  a  philosophical  basis  for  his  philippics  against 
slavery  and  finally  registered  themselves  in  the  war  amend- 
ments. The  fourteenth  amendment,  however,  which  was  in- 
tended to  be  the  Magna  Charta  of  the  freedman  has  in  reality 
profited  him  little  but  has  served  as  a  bulwark  behind  which 
large  corporate  interests  have  sought  legal  refuge  against  the 
various  attempts  at  state  regulation.  The  classic  phrases  of 
this  famous  amendment,  "  No  state  shall  abridge  the  privileges 
or  deprive  any  person  of  life,  liberty,  or  property  without  due 
process  of  law  ",  are  now  imbued  with  a  litigious  atmosphere, 
centering  around  the  economic  rights  and  privileges  of  big 
business,  that  is  utterly  foreign  to  the  original  spirit  and  intent 
of  the  amendment. 

The  irrational  element  is  still  further  accentuated  through 
the  sheer  unwillingness  or  incapacity  of  the  average  citizen  to 
reduce  to  some  sort  of  logical  order  his  heterogeneous  collec- 
tion of  principles,  axioms,  traditional  loyalties,  and  habits  of 
thought  that  have  been  accumulated  from  past  experience 
with  public  issues.  Hence  the  social  conscience  at  any  one 
stage  is  never  a  clear-cut  body  of  ideas  and  sentiments  with  a 
definite  purpose  and  logical  coherence.  It  is  composed  in  the 
average  individual  of  a  complex  of  currents  and  cross  cur- 
rents into  which  enter  local  prejudices,  traditional  political 
and  business  axioms,  religious  loyalties  and  countless  fixed 
and  stubborn  ideas  on  every  imaginable  subject.  Only  in  rare 
cases  is  this  moles  indigesta  subjected  to  keen  criticism  and 
analysis  and  reduced  to  logical  consistency.  Every  politi- 
cian, educator,  minister,  or  public  leader  soon  learns  the 
power  of  these  subtle,  obdurate  and  yet  for  the  most  part 
unreasoning  "  sets "  that  run  through  the  public  sentiment 
of  a  community;  to  challenge  them  is  to  encourage  the  ship- 
wreck of  all  one's  ambitions.  It  would  seem  indeed  that  the 
great  mass  of  men  take  on  passively  the  "  mental  patterns  " 
that  are  peculiar  to  the  great  social  institutions  or  the  Zeitgeist 
of  their  age. 

Few  are  even  conscious  of  the  logical  inconsistencies,  the 
ethical  paradoxes  that  characterize  their  ideas  on  public 


CHANGE  AND  MORAL  RESPONSIBILITY  193 

issues.  There  is  possibly  no  more  homogeneous,  intelligent  and 
progressive  nation  than  modern  England.  But  Sidney  Webb 
thus  characterizes  the  state  of  mind  of  the  average  English- 
man, trained  in  individualistic  traditions  and  yet  living  in  a 
community  tending  towards  collectivism:  "The  Individualist 
Town  Councillor  will  walk  along  the  municipal  pavement,  lit 
by  municipal  gas  and  cleansed  by  municipal  brooms  with  muni- 
cipal water,  and  seeing  by  the  municipal  clock  in  the  municipal 
market,  that  he  is  too  early  to  meet  his  children  coming  from 
the  municipal  school  hard  by  the  county  lunatic  asylum  and 
municipal  hospital,  will  use  the  national  telegraphy  system  to 
tell  them  not  to  walk  through  the  municipal  park  but  to  come 
by  the  municipal  tramway,  to  meet  him  in  the  municipal  read- 
ing room,  by  the  municipal  art  gallery,  museum,  and  library, 
where  he  intends  to  consult  some  of  the  national  publications  in 
order  to  prepare  his  next  speech  in  the  municipal  town-hall,  in 
favor  of  the  nationalization  of  canals  and  the  increase  of  the 
government  control  over  the  railway  system.  '  Socialism  sir,' 
he  will  say,  *  don't  waste  the  time  of  a  practical  man  by  your 
fantastic  absurdities.  Self-help,  sir,  individual  self-help,  that's 
what's  made  our  city  what  it  is  'V 

§  6.    CHANGE  AND  MORAL  RESPONSIBILITY 

How  far  are  these  irrationalities  of  the  social  conscience 
that  hinder  progress  due  to  the  failure  of  men  to  reflect 
and  how  far  are  they  inevitable  and  unavoidable?  Reason 
is  prone  to  point  the  way  to  ethical  ends  that  seem  entirely 
logical  and  feasible.  Men,  however,  under  pressure  of  the 
uncontrollable  forces  of  the  actual  social  situation  modify  or 
reject  their  original  ideals,  or  substitute  those  entirely  dif- 
ferent. Is  there,  then,  an  inevitable  gap  that  we  cannot  bridge 
between  the  moral  ideal  and  the  irrational  and  uncontrollable 
elements  of  actual  experience? 

It  may  be  observed,  first,  that  where  irrational  or  uncon- 
trollable elements  are  obviously  integral  and  necessary  ele- 
ments in  the  situation  we  have  no  choice  but  to  make  a  place 

1  Socialism  in  England,  p.  n6f. 


194  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

for  them  in  our  ethical  scheme.  Probably  the  most  convincing 
argument  for  the  ethical  justification  of  profitism  is  that  there 
is  always  present  to  some  degree  in  every  form  of  business 
enterprise  an  element  of  uncertainty  or  of  business  risk. 
Profits  are  the  legitimate  incentive  that  must  be  held  out  to 
encourage  capital  to  face  this  risk  and  thus  ensure  the  develop- 
ment of  natural  resources,  the  accumulation  of  wealth  and  the 
extension  of  the  material  basis  of  civilization.  Certainly  the 
uncontrollable  and  dangerous  elements  connected  with  the  life 
of  the  steeple-jack  are  good  ethical  grounds  for  demanding  high 
pay.  The  ethical  objection  to  gambling  does  not  lie,  as  the 
good  Calvinist  once  imagined,  in  the  sacrilegious  and  immoral 
repudiation  of  the  eternal  and  rational  order  of  God's  Provi- 
dence, but  in  the  capitalization  of  the  element  of  chance  in  the 
interest  of  unjust  gains.  It  is  one  thing  to  exaggerate  and 
play  with  the  element  of  chance;  it  is  something  quite 
different  to  rationalize  it  and  give  it  a  legitimate  place  hi 
moral  conduct.  Could  the  roulette  board  and  Wall  Street  be 
reduced  to  a  science  they  would  lose  their  attraction  for  the 
gambler. 

It  may  be  remarked  in  the  second  place,  however,  that  all 
changes  which  are  in  any  way  moral  are  also  rational.  The 
sheer  pressure  of  the  forces  of  nature  or  haphazard  social 
adjustments  can  never  solve  moral  problems.  To  be  sure, 
the  costly  processes  of  natural  selection  have  built  up  ways 
of  group  behavior  among  the  gregarious  animals  that  make 
for  social  welfare  but  they  are  not  moral.  The  delicate 
fabric  of  the  moral  order  as  we  know  it  in  human  society 
would  be  destroyed  long  before  this  slow  and  wasteful  process 
of  social  selection  could  accomplish  its  work.  We  need 
intelligence  to  expedite  the  process;  rationality  and  morality 
are  commensurate.  History,  indeed,  seems  to  indicate  that 
the  presence  of  the  rational  element  is  always  responsible 
for  rapidity  and  soundness  of  moral  advance.  The  masses 
of  the  negroes,  either  as  slaves  or  freedmen,  have  never 
felt  the  injustice  of  their  condition  so  much  as  their  more 
enlightened  champions.  The  peasantry  of  the  ancien  regime 


CHANGE  AND  MORAL  RESPONSIBILITY  195 

that  cumbered  the  fields  of  France  like  cattle  and  provided 
Rousseau  with  the  texts  for  his  tirade  against  civilization  were 
not  primarily  responsible  for  the  French  Revolution.  It  was 
among  the  more  intelligent  citizenry  of  Paris  and  other  com- 
munities who  were  not  so  bitterly  oppressed  as  the  peasantry 
but  who  felt  the  oppression  more  that  the  spark  of  revolution 
was  first  kindled.  It  would  seem,  then,  that  a  measure  of 
intelligence  and  information  even  more  than  the  dumb  pres- 
sure of  wrongs  is  necessary  to  the  development  of  an  enlight- 
ened social  conscience.  Where  this  enlightenment  is  lacking 
the  social  conscience  ceases  to  be  a  dynamic  factor  for  prog- 
ress and  men  and  women  endure  their  wrongs  with  far 
greater  patience  and  docility.  It  would  be  absurd  to  suggest 
that  the  citizens  of  the  progressive  democracies  of  Australia 
and  New  Zealand  were  suffering  from  want  or  oppression. 
Yet  socialistic  legislation  and  experiments  are  more  in  evi- 
dence here  than  anywhere  else  among  English-speaking  peo- 
ples. It  would  seem  that  a  moderate  wrong,  the  nature  of 
which  is  clearly  grasped,  may  form  the  basis  for  reform  while 
great  evils,  the  nature  of  which  is  not  understood,  will  be 
endured  with  meekness. 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  reason  with  its  insistent 
demand  for  logical  finality  is  always  in  danger  of  defeating 
its  own  ends.  For  reason  would  proceed  from  the  status  quo 
straight  to  some  distant  end  that  would  seem  to  be  the  logical 
implication  of  the  present  stage  of  development.  To  get  such 
logical  finality,  however,  we  must  ignore  the  contingencies  that 
are  constantly  emerging  where  we  have  to  do  with  living  things. 
Human  life,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  understand  it,  does  not 
march  straight  to  its  goal  in  terms  of  the  logical  implications 
of  the  stage  to  which  we  have  just  attained.  Actual  moral 
experience  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  compromise  with  oui 
ideals  owing  to  the  presence  of  unforeseen  factors  and  the 
eternal  adventurousness  of  life  itself.  It  would  seem,  then,  that 
at  best  the  strictly  logical  element  in  the  formulation  of  the 
moral  ideal  should  be  cast  in  such  broad  and  tentative  form  as 
to  provide  for  the  unforeseen  contingencies  of  a  growing  and 


196  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

expanding  social  order.  Only  in  some  such  fashion  as  this 
are  we  able  to  formulate  the  ethical  ends  so  that  they  will  be 
serviceable  in  meeting  the  immediate  moral  issues  as  they  arise 
from  day  to  day.  Even  then  unavoidable  confusion  and  com- 
plexity will  necessitate  compromises  in  which  we  seem  to  have 
sacrificed  the  real  purpose  of  the  ideal. 

Shall  we  say,  then,  that  compromise  is  the  last  word  on 
the  problem  of  moral  progress?  Compromise  is  an  ethically 
unpalatable  term.  It  is  piecemeal  morality,  the  attaining  of 
righteousness  bit  by  bit.  But  justice  is  immediate,  cate- 
gorical, absolute  in  its  demands.  It  does  not  admit  of  tem- 
porizing or  compounding  with  wrong.  Is  not  the  strength 
of  the  moral  ideal  found  in  its  author itativeness?  It  is 
well  to  remember,  however,  that  compromise  has  its  virtues 
as  well  as  its  vices.  It  proceeds  from  the  fundamental  convic- 
tion that  the  ideal  is  not  more  precious  than  the  integrity  and 
permanence  of  the  social  order  itself.  The  principle  of  fiat 
justitia  ruat  coelum  is  self-contradictory.  The  very  existence 
of  the  moral  life  itself  demands  the  continuity  of  a  sane 
and  healthful  social  order.  Only  through  compromise  can 
this  unbroken  continuity  of  ethical  tradition  be  preserved 
Through  compromise  the  ethical  ideal  undergoes  a  constant 
process  of  selection  and  criticism  and  adaptation  to  the  par- 
ticular issue.  This  ensures  real  moral  progress  by  keeping  in 
the  closest  possible  touch  with  the  demands  and  capacities  of 
the  social  situation.  It  has  been  said  that  the  test  of  a  great 
statesman  is  "the  capacity  for  honestly  sharing  the  varying, 
and  even  inconsistent,  sentiments  of  his  age  ".  And  the  same 
may  be  said  to  a  certain  extent  of  the  successful  moral 
reformer. 

§  7.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  MORAL  IDEAL 

A  word  must  be  devoted  to  a  more  exact  definition 
of  the  notion  of  social  equilibrium  which  we  have  suggested 
as  the  measure  of  moral  progress.  The  first  of  modern 
moralists  to  formulate  a  notion  of  moral  progress  that  would 
harmonize  with  the  principle  of  evolution  was  Herbert  Spencer. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  MORAL  IDEAL  197 

The  famous  Spencerian  definition  of  life  as  "  the  continuous 
adjustment  of  internal  relations  to  external  relations  "  includes 
of  course  the  moral  economy.  For  Spencer,  therefore,  moral 
progress  must  be  a  continuous  approximation  to  an  organiza- 
tion of  our  powers  which  will  make  possible  a  perfect  adjust- 
ment to  environment.  The  good  life  is  a  development  towards 
an  equilibrium,  not  a  stable  equilibrium  but  a  "  moving  equili- 
brium ".  The  ideal  will  be  attained  when  we  have  the  com- 
pletely adapted  man  in  a  completely  evolved  society.  For  a 
"  complete  life  in  a  complete  society  is  another  name  for  com- 
plete equilibrium  between  the  coordinated  activities  of  each 
social  unit  and  those  of  the  aggregate  units  "/ 

Since  we  have  not  yet  attained  the  completely  adapted  man 
in  the  completely  evolved  society  the  stage  of  goodness  actually 
reached  must  be  "  relative  "  as  compared  with  the  goodness 
possible  under  the  "  absolute "  conditions  of  a  completely 
evolved  society.  The  best  attainable  goodness  is  the  conduct 
that  is  least  wrong  and  we  know  that  we  have  attained  the  least 
wrong  conduct  when  we  act  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  the 
greatest  amount  of  pleasure. 

The  weakness  of  Spencer's  conception  of  moral  progress 
lies  not  in  his  notion  of  a  mobile  equilibrium  but  in  his 
artificial  and  mechanical  conception  of  the  absolute  moral 
good.  The  assumption  that  our  best  acts  under  the  existing 
conditions  of  a  relative  ethic  are  only  those  acts  that  are  least 
wrong  implies  the  possibility  of  comparing  our  present  conduct 
with  conduct  under  the  ideal  conditions  of  the  completely 
evolved  social  order.  But  what  those  conditions  of  a  com- 
pletely evolved  social  order  are,  we  can  only  surmise.  It  is 
only  through  the  immediate  experiences  of  the  present  that 
we  can  formulate  our  ideal  of  the  moral  good.  Since  future 
experiences  imply  situations  which  are  beyond  our  control  and 
hence  unpredictable  we  can  never  dogmatize  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  absolute  good.  Constantly  accumulating  experience 
forces  us  to  reorganize  again  and  again  our  conception  of  the 
good.  The  moral  ideal  grows  with  and  through  experience;  it 

1Data  of  Ethics,  sec.  28. 


1 98  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

is  not  a  fixed  and  far  distant  goal  which  we  are  slowly 
approximating. 

Spencer's  conception  of  the  moral  good  suffers,  furthermore, 
from  the  fundamental  weakness  of  his  philosophy.  In  his 
thought  the  living  and  striving  organism  is  always  subjected 
more  or  less  to  a  fixed  and  mechanically  determined  environ- 
ment. But  the  individual  in  adjusting  himself  to  the  environ- 
ment not  only  suffers  change  himself  but  also  modifies  his 
environment.  Every  moral  act  affects  in  some  way  the  char- 
acters of  our  fellows  so  that  in  the  very  act  of  adjusting  our- 
selves to  them  we  change  them  and  create  for  ourselves  a  new 
environment  for  future  adjustments.  In  this  wise  the  meaning 
as  well  as  the  content  of  the  moral  ideal  grows  with  the 
accumulations  of  moral  experience  and  is  conditioned  by  this 
experience. 

A  little  reflection  will  show  that  the  Spencerian  formula  of  a 
"  completely  adapted  man  in  a  completely  evolved  society  " 
really  makes  for  ethical  relativism  and  contradicts  the  im- 
mediate witness  of  the  moral  experience  itself.  For  if  the  only 
feasible  moral  goodness  is  the  least  wrong  act  or  the  act  that 
under  the  circumstances  best  approximates  to  the  absolute 
goodness  of  the  ideal  moral  order,  then  our  best  endeavors  are 
only  partially  right  and  our  best  interpretation  of  the  moral 
ideal  is  necessarily  limited  by  the  imperfect  stage  of  social 
evolution  we  have  attained.  Such  a  situation  if  true  would 
inevitably  detract  from  the  force  of  the  moral  imperative.  No 
such  detraction,  however,  is  felt  in  the  facts  of  the  moral 
experience.  The  moral  sanction  speaks  to  us  in  terms  of  the 
immediate  social  situation  and  not  in  terms  of  a  completely 
evolved  social  order  to  be  attained  generations  or  millen- 
iums  hence.  It  is  what  we  can  do  here  and  now  that  conditions 
the  moral  problem  and  those  conditions  are  for  us  absolute.  In 
every  moral  issue  there  is  some  one  course  that  is  eternally 
and  absolutely  right  in  the  sense  that  it  and  it  alone 
satisfies  the  moral  demands  made  upon  us  by  the  concrete 
situation. 

The  good  of  each  age,  therefore,  must  be  final  and  absolute 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  MORAL  IDEAL  199 

for  that  age  because  the  moral  good  becomes  intelligible  and 
real  as  a  result  of  social  adjustment,  the  achievement  of  social 
equilibrium.  When  that  adjustment  has  been  made  the  moral 
good  it  embodies  is  absolute.  For  the  stage  to  which  we  have 
attained  in  moral  evolution,  when  taken  in  the  light  of  the  past, 
is  final  upon  the  whole  question  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  good. 
We  do  not  know  what  the  future  may  bring  forth;  we  are  able 
to  anticipate  possible  future  modifications  of  the  ideal  only  in 
terms  of  the  present.  There  is,  therefore,  an  absolute  morality 
in  the  sense  that  the  ideal  met  in  making  social  adjustments  in 
a  given  situation  are  final  for  that  situation  and  will  always 
remain  so  since  the  facts  involved  are  unique  and  without  a 
parallel  in  what  precedes  and  follows.  Looked  at  in  one  way, 
to  be  sure,  it  would  appear  that  the  ideal  is  relative  because 
from  the  nature  of  the  case  it  is  conditioned  by  the  situation  in 
which  it  functions.  With  reference  to  other  situations  it  may 
be  more  or  less  perfect.  But  reflection  will  show  that  its 
relativity  is  but  the  obverse  side  of  its  absoluteness.  The 
more  definitely  it  is  related  to  a  certain  social  situation  the 
more  final  and  absolute  it  becomes.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
more  completely  and  absolutely  a  moral  value  is  realized  in  a 
given  situation  the  more  speedily  will  it  become  antiquated  and 
give  place  to  new  values. 

This  condition  of  mobile  equilibrium,  of  relative  absolute- 
ness in  the  moral  ideal,  may  be  viewed  in  two  ways,  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  social,  though  it  is  evident  that  the  mobile  equili- 
brium felt  by  the  individual  is  but  a  phase  of  the  larger  mobile 
equilibrium  of  the  social  order.  From  one  point  of  view  the 
good  act  is  one  which  is  adjusted  to  an  ordered  series  of  indi- 
vidual activities;  from  another  point  of  view  the  good  act  is 
one  that  secures  for  the  individual  proper  adjustment  to  an 
order  of  persons.  The  balance  of  powers  that  evidences  moral 
worth  in  the  individual  is  directly  dependent  upon  the  extent  to 
which  this  balance  reflects  the  higher  equilibrium  of  the  com- 
munity of  which  he  is  a  part.  It  is  obvious  that  where  such  a 
highly  equilibrated  social  order  does  not  exist  it  will  hardly  be 
possible  to  develop  the  highest  type  of  character.  The  social 


200  THE  PROBLEM  OF  MORAL  PROGRESS 

setting  in  this  sense  seems  to  predetermine  the  limits  of  moral 
perfection  for  the  individual. 

The  way  in  which  the  individual  through  systematizing  and 
harmonizing  his  own  powers  in  contact  with  his  fellows  adds  his 
contribution  to  the  solution  of  the  ultimate  problem  of  social 
equilibrium  has  been  well  stated  by  Alexander:  "  In  the  en- 
deavor to  satisfy  the  claims  of  one  another,  it  is  discovered 
experimentally  that  a  certain  arrangement  of  observances  or 
sentiments,  allows  a  certain  number  of  persons  to  live  together 
without  disintegration  from  without,  and  without  friction  from 
within,  while  other  persons  or  other  courses  of  action  can 
neither  be  got  to  fit  into  this  arrangement,  nor  into  any  stable 
arrangement.  This  first  set  of  persons  are  good,  their  approval 
stamps  with  the  character  of  goodness  the  actions  which  they 
themselves  practise;  while  they  stamp  with  disapproval  the 
actions  which  are  practiced  by  those  who  are  not  of  their 
number,  and  these  are  bad.  Good  men  and  the  moral  ideal 
which  formulates  their  desires  are  determined  together,  and  the 
objection  which  overlooks  this  process  falls  to  the  ground."  1 
The  good  man,  therefore,  in  attaining  the  ideal  reproduces  in 
his  own  character  those  traits  demanded  by  the  community  for 
the  preservation  of  its  own  life.  In  other  words,  the  moral 
values  of  any  age  or  group  are  those  types  of  character,  those 
traits  of  disposition,  those  affective  attitudes  which  are  at  a 
premium  in  that  group  or  age  because  they  fit  in  with  and 
satisfy  the  group's  need  for  social  equilibrium  and  continued 
existence.  It  follows,  of  course,  that  under  changed  group 
conditions,  demanding  for  social  stability  other  phases  of  char- 
acter, the  moral  values  will  undergo  corresponding  modifica- 
tions. The  ignoring  of  this  fundamental  principle  has  intro- 
duced much  confusion  and  arbitrariness  into  our  conception  of 
the  moral  life. 


i-Mind,  1892,  p.  46. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


i.   Books :  ALEXANDER,  S. :  The  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  384  ff. ; 
BALDWIN,   J.   M. :   Social   and   Ethical   Interpretations,   Ch.    14;    GREEN, 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  201 

T.  H. :  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  sees.  154  f.,  pp.  iSoff. ;  HOBHOUSE,  L.  T. : 
Morals  in  Evolution,  Ch.  I ;  Social  Evolution  and  Political  Theory,  pp. 
152!.;  PERRY,  R.  B. :  The  Moral  Economy,  Ch.  IV;  SPENCER,  H. :  Data 
of  Ethics,  Chs.  1-8;  STEPHEN,  L. :  The  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  IX;  TODD, 
A.  J. :  Theories  of  Social  Progress,  1918  (pp.  549  ff.,  bibliography); 
WALLACE,  A.  R. :  Social  Environment  and  Moral  Progress,  1913. 

2.  Articles :  DEWEY  :  "  Progress."  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
Vol.  26,  pp.  311  ff. ;  MORLEY,  J. :  "  Some  Thoughts  on  Progress."  Educa- 
tional Review,  Vol.  29,  1-17;  PATTEN,  S.  N. :  "Theories  of  Progress." 
American  Economic  Review,  Vol.  2,  pp.  61  ff. ;  SPENCER,  H. :  "  Progress." 
Westminister  Review,  April,  1857. 


PART   III 
THE  SOCIAL  ORDER 

CHAPTER  XII 

THE  ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  THE 
MORAL  ECONOMY 

§  i.   THE  INSTITUTION  AS  THE  MORAL  EDUCATOR 

THE  Greeks,  with  their  characteristic  fondness  for  attributing 
to  the  semi-mythical  sages  of  the  past  the  accumulated  wisdom 
of  the  present,  tell  the  story  of  an  early  philosopher  who  was 
asked  by  an  anxious  father  the  best  way  to  train  his  son. 
The  sage's  reply  was,  "  Make  him  a  citizen  of  the  state  with  the 
best  laws  ".  This  suggests  at  once  the  profoundly  important 
part  played  by  the  institution  in  shaping  the  form  and  content 
of  character.  Social  institutions  are  the  great  educators  be- 
cause they  supply  the  settled  modes  of  behavior,  the  relatively 
fixed  forms  of  social  evaluation,  so  necessary  for  that  disciplin- 
ing of  the  individual  with  which  all  education  begins.  The 
socially  valuable  institution  educates  because  in  its  last  analysis 
its  influence  is  mental  and  moral  rather  than  material.  It  is 
not  the  brick  and  mortar  of  the  state  capitol,  town-hall,  or 
church  edifice,  it  is  not  the  pulleys  and  lathes  and  dynamos 
of  the  mill,  it  is  not  the  solemn  panels,  dusty  tomes,  and  red- 
sealed  documents  of  the  law-court,  it  is  not  the  physical  fire- 
side and  all  the  material  domestic  equipment  of  the  home  that 
form  the  essence  of  these  social  institutions.  That  is  to  be 
sought  in  the  habits  of  thought,  the  forms  of  feeling,  the  ways 
of  acting  which  find  in  building,  machine,  written  ordinance,  or 
home  circle  their  points  of  attachment.  All  the  visible  forms 
and  material  instrumentalities  of  an  institution  have  meaning 

203 


204     ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  MORAL  ECONOMY 

and  value  only  as  they  are  associated  with  reasoning,  feeling, 
striving  human  beings. 

It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  an  intelligent,  thoroughly 
organized  and  socially  efficient  social  conscience  is  directly 
dependent  upon  the  character  of  our  social  institutions. 
Almost  a  century  ago  DeTocqueville  could  say,  "  The  free 
institutions  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  United  States  pos- 
sess, and  the  political  rights  of  which  they  make  so  much  use, 
remind  every  citizen,  and  in  a  thousand  ways,  that  he  lives  in 
society.  They  every  instant  impress  upon  his  mind  the  notion 
that  it  is  the  duty  as  well  as  the  interest  of  men,  to  make  them- 
selves useful  to  their  fellow-creatures."  To-day  critics  of  the 
social  order  trace  the  present  chaotic  condition  of  public  senti- 
ment and  our  disconcerting  inability  to  cope  with  problems  to 
the  lack  of  moral  and  intellectual  molds  for  giving  definite 
shape  to  the  loyalties  of  men.  It  is  difficult,  even  impossible,  to 
say  to-day  what  American  public  opinion  is  upon  such 
matters  as  divorce,  the  political  and  economic  status  of 
women,  child  labor,  birth  control,  municipal  ownership,  state 
control  of  big  business,  and  many  other  burning  issues. 
Those  institutions  that  should  provide  us  with  a  disciplined 
and  enlightened  public  sentiment  on  these  matters  have 
failed  us. 

We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  a  democracy  any  more 
than  other  forms  of  society  can  dispense  with  the  principle  of 
social  control  and  the  moral  discipline  that  are  afforded  through 
institutions.  For  public  sentiment,  democracy's  court  of  last 
resort  upon  great  issues,  is  in  a  large  measure  the  institutionali- 
zation  of  the  social  experience  of  the  past.  Prevailing  norms 
of  thought  and  action  are  reflected  in  institutions.  The  indi- 
vidual must  utilize  these  traditions  as  his  indispensable  means 
of  dealing  with  men  and  things.  He  must  feel,  reason,  and 
act  according  to  the  pre-determined  forms  of  national  and 
even  racial  experience.  He  is  dependent  upon  the  result  of 
an  age-long  process  of  social  selection  and  he  has  no  choice 
but  to  accept  the  results  of  this  selective  process.  The  impli- 
cations of  these  general  statements  will  be  clearer  if  we  con- 


EVOLUTION  OF  THE  SELF  205 

sider  more  in  detail  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  the 
institution. 

§  2.   EVOLUTION  OF  THE  SELF  WITHIN  THE 
INSTITUTIONAL  SETTING 

We  may  distinguish  four  stages  by  which  the  individual  in 
the  home-circle  gradually  lives  himself  into  the  moral  economy 
and  achieves  a  character  by  making  himself  social  and  solid 
with  his  fellows.  At  the  lowest  level  we  have  purely  instinctive 
behavior  with  the  more  or  less  accidental  modifications  of  these 
reactions  through  contact  with  the  external  world.  This  is 
succeeded  by  a  pleasure-pain  economy  where  impulse  and  in- 
stinct are  partially  socialized  through  a  system  of  rewards  and 
punishments  in  the  social  environment  and  especially  in  the 
family.  Here  the  beginnings  are  made  for  socially  valuable 
habits.  In  the  third  stage,  the  percept  and  mental  image  of  the 
person  or  social  situation  together  with  the  elements  of  social 
praise  or  blame  associated  with  them  provide  the  measure  of 
values.  It  has  sometimes  been  called  the  "  I'll  tell  teacher  " 
stage.  The  stuff  of  the  moral  situation  is  still  concrete  and 
personal  and  there  are  few  generalizations.  In  the  fourth  and 
last  stage,  the  moral  ideal  is  oriented  in  terms  of  ethical  norms 
or  general  principles  that  are  recognized  as  underlying  the 
behavior  of  individuals.  The  measure  of  moral  maturity,  then, 
is  found  in  the  extent  to  which  a  definite  ideal  self  as  a  phase  of 
a  larger  social  complex  is  built  up  and  serves  to  control  con- 
duct. Ethics  is  concerned  mainly  with  the  form  and  function 
of  this  ideal  social  construct,  the  socius. 

The  development  of  this  ideal  self  and  its  ethical  implica- 
tions pre-supposes  other  selves.  The  gregarious  impulses,  to- 
gether with  the  ever-pressing  necessity  of  adjusting  himself  to 
his  fellows,  force  the  child  in  the  family  and  later  in  the 
"  gang  ",  the  school  and  other  group  relations  to  take  over  the 
"  social  copy  "  that  is  offered  to  him  in  the  shape  of  the  words 
and  acts  and  ideas  of  his  fellows.  Other  selves  thus  become 
possibilities  for  the  development  of  his  own  self.  His  own  self 
is  to  a  very  large  extent  the  result  of  reinitiating  and  making 


2o6      ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  MORAL  ECONOMY 

his  own  the  subjective  experiences  of  others  whose  "  social 
copy  "  he  acts  out.  In  this  wise  the  individual  comes  to  under- 
stand himself  in  the  process  of  entering  more  fully  into  the 
lives  of  others.  The  objective  and  external  becomes  subjective 
and  personal.  The  meaning  of  the  individual  and  personal  is 
discovered  in  the  process  of  assimilating  the  material  provided 
by  social  contacts.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  the  individual 
is  constantly  passing  over  into  the  field  of  the  social.  The 
social  is  constantly  being  absorbed  and  built  into  the  fabric 
of  the  individual.  It  is  impossible  to  draw  fixed  and  arbi- 
trary lines  of  demarkation  between  the  two.  They  are  as 
integral  parts  of  the  total  situation  as  are  the  dimensions  of 
a  cube. 

The  primary  role  in  this  process  of  rationalizing  and  social- 
izing the  individual's  instinctive  equipment  and  providing  him 
with  a  moral  self  is  played  by  that  institution  which  is  funda- 
mental among  all  the  institutions,  namely,  the  home.  The 
ethical  ideals  that  actuate  the  mature  members  of  the  family- 
circle  are  not  incorporated  in  the  moral  sentiments  of  the 
child  primarily  through  reflection  and  critical  analysis.  For 
the  most  part  it  is  social  pressure  that  forces  the  child  to 
take  over  the  "  social  copy  "  presented  to  him  by  his  associates. 
The  youngster  who  attempts  to  reproduce  in  the  family-circle 
the  role  of  the  bully  which  he  found  so  interesting  at  school 
makes  some  important  discoveries.  In  the  first  place,  the 
acting  out  of  the  "  social  copy  "  offered  by  the  words  and 
acts  of  the  bully  makes  vital  and  real  in  the  inner  life  of 
the  child  the  subjective  experiences  that  accompany  the  acts  of 
the  bully.  It  is  through  this  process  of  taking  over  and  acting 
out  his  "  social  copy  "  that  the  child  lives  himself  into  the  inner 
thought  and  life  of  his  associates.  In  the  second  place,  how- 
ever, in  this  process  of  living  himself  into  his  world  the  child 
finds  that  certain  acts  meet  with  strenuous  opposition  while 
others  are  commended  by  the  members  of  the  family-circle. 
He  is  far  from  being  able  at  first  to  give  a  rational  explanation 
or  definition  of  the  principles  upon  which  the  family-circle  pro- 
nounces these  judgments.  They  appear  to  him  primarily  as 


COMPOSITE  NATURE  OF  THE  SELF  207 

immediate  brute  fact  to  which  he  must  adjust  himself.    His 
obedience  is  based  largely  upon  the  pleasure-pain  economy. 

In  time,  however,  as  character  and  intelligence  develop, 
the  common  attitudes,  the  principles  of  behavior,  the  subtle 
organizations  of  sentiments  of  the  family-circle  register  them- 
selves in  the  child's  own  nature.  The  immediate  and  unre- 
mittent  pressure  of  the  economy  of  the  family  group  neces- 
sitates an  organization  ot  his  sentiments  in  accord  with  the 
spirit  of  the  family  group.  Here  we  have  the  beginnings  of  the 
social  conscience  so  far  as  the  individual  is  concerned.  And 
here  also  we  have  the  reason  for  saying  that  the  family  is  the 
fundamental  social  institution.  It  takes  precedence  over  all 
others  because  of  its  unparalleled  opportunities  for  molding  the 
sentiments,  creating  habits  of  thought,  forming  standards  of 
values  through  which  the  individual  orients  himself  on  all  ethi- 
cal issues.  With  the  widening  of  his  circle  of  experience  this 
original  and  fundamental  body  of  sentiments  organized  under 
the  influence  of  the  family  is  modified  through  contact  with 
other  institutions  such  as  the  school,  the  church,  the  state,  or 
the  business  establishment.  But  those  impressions  made  in  the 
formative  stage  of  childhood  remain  of  fundamental  import- 
ance. Even  the  radical  who  imagines  that  he  has  emancipated 
himself  entirely  from  earlier  conservative  influences  of  the 
home-circle  will  find  his  radicalism  would  be  inexplicable 
without  this  earlier  conservative  background. 

§  3.   COMPOSITE  NATURE  OF  THE  SELF 

The  self,  then,  is  most  intimately  related  to  the  institution 
of  which  the  home  is  the  typical  example.  This  relation  we 
may  illustrate  by  that  which  exists  between  the  vine  and  the 
trellis  that  supports  it.  The  vine  appropriates  the  fixed  frame- 
work of  the  trellis  as  the  immediate  and  necessary  instrument 
for  realizing  the  impulse  to  grow  and  expand  inherent  in  all 
living  things.  The  demands  of  the  life  impulse  are  of  more 
pressing  and  practical  importance  than  the  accidental  form  of 
the  trellis.  But  at  the  same  time  the  vine  in  achieving  its  own 
life  takes  on  the  form  of  the  trellis.  As  the  vine  develops  and 


208     ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  MORAL  ECONOMY 

approaches  maturity  the  peculiarities  of  the  structure  of  the 
trellis  must  inevitably  become  more  and  more  integral  parts  of 
the  life  of  the  vine.  The  condition  of  the  vine's  fulness  of  life 
is  a  more  or  less  complete  surrender  to  the  leadings  of  the 
trellis.  Of  course  vine  and  trellis  never  become  organically  one 
as  is  often  the  case  with  individual  and  institution.  For  in  a 
sense  the  institution  only  has  reality  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  modi- 
fication of  the  thought  and  conduct  of  individuals.  Institu- 
tion and  individual  cannot  be  separated  except  in  thought  In 
this  sense  the  illustration  of  vine  and  trellis  falls  short  of  the 
reality. 

The  illustration  of  vine  and  trellis  fails  also  to  bring  out 
another  most  important  fact  in  connection  with  the  relation 
of  the  self  to  the  institutional  setting.  Each  vine  has  its  own 
trellis  and  hence  lives  its  own  more  or  less  unique  and  fixed 
life.  The  self,  however,  appropriates  many  social  institutions. 
Its  life  overflows  and  demands,  especially  in  the  case  of  the  rich 
and  many-sided  self,  all  the  possibilities  for  growth  that  society 
can  offer.  The  self  thus  transcends  the  institution.  Human 
life  even  in  the  case  of  the  most  mediocre  individual  includes 
values,  aspirations,  spiritual  and  moral  needs,  that  no  one  insti- 
tution can  ever  satisfy.  This  fact  of  the  superabundant  life 
of  the  self  has  important  consequences.  The  self  at  its  highest 
levels  is  forced  to  seek  its  realization  independent  of  the  me- 
chanical institutional  structure  of  society.  The  moral  self  must 
become  the  master  of  its  own  destiny,  the  architect  of  its  own 
fortune.  It  is  compelled  to  become  a  sovereign  moral  entity. 
The  very  exigencies  of  its  life  demand  that  it  emancipate  itself 
from  the  dogmatism,  the  authoritarianism,  the  partiality,  the 
mechanical  inflexibility  of  the  institution.  It  is  at  this  higher 
level  of  the  creative  and  autonomous  moral  self  that  the  prob- 
lem of  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  the  social  emerges  in 
its  sharpest  form.  How  far  is  this  highest  self  purely  a  matter 
of  individual  feelings  and  will  attitudes  and  to  what  extent  can 
we  claim  for  it  reality  as  a  social  entity? 

If  we  take  a  segment  of  the  mature  moral  self  we  detect 
several  phases.  At  the  lowest  level  lie  the  various  institutional 


COMPOSITE  NATURE  OF  THE  SELF  209 

selves.  They  include  relatively  fixed  habits  of  thought  and 
action.  They  are  for  the  most  part  narrow  and  mechanical  in 
their  scope  and  belong  to  the  general  category  of  group 
morality.  Every  individual  shows  traces  of  several  institu- 
tional selves.  There  is  the  self  of  the  home,  the  church,  the 
office,  or  the  club.  They  have  their  ethical  norms,  their  defi- 
nite habitudes  of  the  sentiments.  Often  these  institutional 
selves  exist  side  by  side  in  the  constitution  of  the  same  indi- 
vidual with  relatively  little  influence  upon  each  other.  At  a 
higher  level  we  have  what  we  may  call  the  super-institutional 
self.  It  is  much  more  comprehensive,  more  subtle,  and  un- 
stable than  the  institutional  selves.  It  includes  that  phase  of 
the  self  each  is  forced  to  develop  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  his 
life  always  transcends  the  local  institutional  self.  For  the 
individual  whose  interests  are  associated  with  the  various 
social  groups  and  institutions  is  nevertheless  a  unity.  The 
demand  for  personal  integrity  forces  him  to  unify  his  experi- 
ences at  a  higher  level.  The  exigencies  of  the  moral  life 
demand,  therefore,  the  creation  of  a  super-institutional  self. 

This  super-institutional  self  has  its  individual  as  well  as 
its  more  social  phases,  though,  strictly  speaking,  the  individual 
and  the  social  are  merely  terms  applied  to  phases  of  one  whole 
of  experience.  At  the  heart  of  the  super-institutional  self  lie 
the  comprehensive  ethical  norms  that  are  more  or  less  common 
to  all  the  various  institutional  selves.  These  are  the  general 
principles  of  action  insisted  upon  for  the  maintenance  of  a 
healthful  and  enduring  community  life  and  include  the  norms 
regarded  as  basic  in  the  moral  economy  of  any  given  age.  It 
is  with  these  norms  that  we  are  concerned  primarily  in  the 
study  of  the  social  conscience.  We  have  seen  that  they  vary 
with  the  shifts  of  the  stresses  and  strains  of  the  social  order; 
they  do  not  always  occupy  the  same  place  in  the  scale  of  moral 
values  of  different  periods.  The  super-institutional  self  of  each 
individual  always  includes  some  of  these  norms.  An  enlightened 
and  socialized  character  will  include  many  of  these  norms.  An 
individual  completely  and  rationally  socialized  would  be  an 
epitome  of  the  social  conscience.  Regard  for  a  minimum  of 


210     ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  MORAL  ECONOMY" 

these  ethical  principles  is  necessary  to  living  peacefully  with 
our  fellows;  the  individual  who  repeatedly  violates  the  right  of 
property,  for  example,  is  speedily  isolated;  one  who  disregards 
human  life  may  be  eliminated  entirely. 

These  norms  of  the  super-institutional  self  function  almost 
automatically  in  conventional  moral  judgments.  When  one 
owes  a  just  debt  and  the  time  for  payment  arrives,  in  a  vigorous 
moral  character  the  mass  of  sentiments  organized  in  terms  of 
the  norm  of  business  honesty  assert  themselves  almost  auto- 
matically. The  debt  is  paid  and  the  element  of  obligation 
hardly  enters  consciously  into  the  situation.  Similarly  where 
the  issue  involved  is  of  a  civic  character  that  falls  easily  within 
the  habitual  ways  of  thinking  and  acting,  a  public  duty  may 
be  performed  in  the  same  automatic  fashion  as  in  the  case 
of  the  matter  of  private  morality.  For  the  social  conscience 
is  felt  mainly  in  the  application  by  the  individual  of  those 
general  ethical  norms  he  shares  with  the  rest  of  the  better 
elements  of  the  community,  to  an  issue  involving  the  good 
of  all.  The  question  as  to  whether  a  moral  judgment  is  indi- 
vidual or  social  is  primarily  a  question  of  the  content  of  the 
subject  rather  than  the  predicate  of  the  judgment. 

This  social  phase  of  the  super-institutional  self  is  to  be 
differentiated,  however,  from  the  more  intimate  and  personal 
phases  of  the  moral  experience  that  are  best  illustrated  in 
cases  of  conscience.  The  case  of  conscience  is  always  ac- 
companied by  a  sense  of  increased  strain  and  mental  uneasi- 
ness due  to  the  fact  that  habitual  and  ready-made  organiza- 
tions of  sentiments  cannot  be  readily  brought  to  bear  on  the 
problem.  The  situation,  furthermore,  is  one  usually  that  in- 
volves the  self  in  its  entirety  or  the  master  sentiment.  This 
is  seen  in  the  fact  that  reflection  is  much  more  in  evidence  in 
cases  of  conscience  than  in  the  habitual  moral  decisions.  In 
the  latter  case  an  "  apperceiving  mass  "  of  sentiments  and 
ideas  functions  immediately  and  without  mental  effort  in  sanc- 
tioning or  rejecting  the  proposed  act.  In  the  case  of  con- 
science, however,  the  mind  must  canvass  the  entire  situation 
and  weigh  the  pros  and  cons.  This  often  involves  an  entire 


INSTITUTIONAL  AND  INDIVIDUAL  SELVES        211 

recasting  of  existing  systems  of  sentiments  or  at  least  a 
critical  survey  of  the  self  and  the  pronouncement  of  judgment 
in  terms  of  the  new  mental  synthesis  that  is  thus  created. 
This  explains  the  feeling  of  isolation  always  felt  in  debating 
cases  of  conscience.  The  uniqueness  and  personal  nature  of 
the  problem  set  the  individual  off  from  his  fellows.  He  often 
finds  himself  at  variance  with  the  conventional  sanctions  of 
the  community.  For  it  is  at  this  higher  level  of  individual 
morality  that  new  moral  values  are  coined  and  points  of  de- 
parture are  secured  for  moral  progress. 

§  4.   THE    RELATION    OF    INSTITUTIONAL   AND    INDIVIDUAL 
SELVES  TO  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

Some  of  our  most  serious  moral  problems  arise  in  con- 
nection with  the  relations  between  the  social  conscience,  the 
institutional  selves,  and  the  intimate  or  private  self.  We  have 
seen  that  the  institutional  selves  play  a  most  important  role 
in  shaping  the  social  conscience.  In  the  past  the  institu- 
tional self  more  than  often  dominated  the  situation  entirely. 
The  self  shaped  by  the  discipline  of  the  church  during  the 
middle  ages,  for  example,  provided  a  broad  schematic  form 
within  which  the  social  and  individual  conscience  developed. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  those  theocratic  forms  of  society 
that  arose  in  Geneva,  Scotland,  and  New  England  under  the 
Calvinistic  regime.  The  moral  life  was  thoroughly  institu- 
tionalized by  church  forms  and  dogmas  that  provided  the 
source  of  authority  and  the  measure  of  values  in  political, 
social,  or  business  relations  as  well  as  in  matters  purely  re- 
ligious. In  more  recent  times  the  state  as  developed  under 
Prussian  absolutism  provided  an  illustration  of  a  national 
morality  that  was  cast  for  the  most  part  in  the  mould  of  the 
political  institutional  self.  For  a  while  it  seemed  that  the  "  big 
business  "  corporation  was  destined  to  play  a  similar  role  in 
American  life. 

In  more  progressive  states,  however,  and  especially  in 
American  democracy,  the  institutional  selves  do  not  dominate 
the  situation.  This  is  due  primarily  to  the  spirit  of  democ- 


2i2      ROLE  OF  THE  INSTITUTION  IN  MORAL  ECONOMY 

cracy  itself  which  will  not  be  cribbed,  cabined  or  confined 
in  any  such  mechanical  fashion.  It  is  due  also  in  no  small 
degree  to  the  sheer  fact  of  the  multiplication  of  the  institu- 
tional selves.  The  complexity  of  our  tense  urban  civilization 
and  the  richness  and  variety  of  the  individual's  activities  tend 
to  diminish  materially  the  disciplinary  effect  of  all  institu- 
tions. Indeed  in  some  of  our  large  cities  the  tonic  effect  of 
a  vigorous  institutional  life  is  almost  entirely  lacking.  Con- 
sequently there  is  a  feeling  of  inchoateness,  of  absence  of 
conviction,  and  community  of  purpose  most  disconcerting  to 
one  interested  in  building  up  an  intelligent  and  effective 
public  sentiment.  If  history  teaches  us  anything  it  is  that 
without  a  vigorous  and  refined  institutional  life  we  can  never 
hope  to  have  an  efficient  public  sentiment. 

In  the  society  of  the  future  this  complexity  will  in  all 
probability  increase  rather  than  diminish.  Could  we  bring 
every  institution  to  recognize  its  possibilities  for  moral  train- 
ing this  complexity  might  prove  a  help  rather  than  a  hin- 
drance. For  there  is  a  uniqueness  in  the  ethical  quality  of 
every  institutional  self  that  might  be  utilized  to  enrich  the 
moral  life.  The  church,  for  example,  is  in  the  position,  as 
is  no  other  institution,  to  stress  the  notes  of  brotherhood 
and  the  spiritual  implications  of  the  moral  ideal.  The  univer- 
sity should  cherish  the  intellectual  virtues,  the  high  and  holy 
regard  for  truth  that  is  the  distinctive  moral  contribution 
of  science.  Office,  shop,  and  mill  offer  a  vast  laboratory  for 
discipline  in  the  homelier  virtues  that  are  basic  for  business 
enterprise  and  industry.  Every  profession  has  its  unique 
moral  excellence.  These  various  moral  characteristics  of 
the  institutional  self  need  of  course  to  be  fused  into  some 
sort  of  a  unity  by  the  sense  of  social  responsibility.  The 
church  needs  to  realize,  for  example,  that  the  mystical  and 
idealistic  phases  of  the  moral  peculiar  to  its  institutional  self 
must  be  strengthened  and  vitalized  by  scientific  regard  for 
the  truth.  Apart  from  the  school  and  to  a  certain  extent 
the  home  and  the  church,  few  institutions  show  any  sense  of 
responsibility  for  the  type  of  self  they  are  encouraging. 


INSTITUTIONAL  AND  INDIVIDUAL  SELVES        213 

Serious  problems  have  arisen  in  connection  with  the  an- 
tagonisms between  the  institutional  self  and  the  intimate 
individual  self.  The  institutional  self,  as  the  modern  repre- 
sentative of  the  primitive  group  self  or  "  tribal  self,"  has 
always  been  opposed  by  the  introspective  individualistic  self 
of  reflective  morality.  Moral  advance  from  the  days  of  So- 
crates to  the  present  has  been  made  primarily  through  the 
emancipation  of  the  private  introspective  self  from  the  group 
self  of  tradition  and  authority.  The  triumphant  individual- 
ism of  American  life  is  a  manifestation  of  this  individual 
self  insisting  upon  its  own  self-sufficiency,  its  right  to  deter- 
mine its  own  destiny.  But  Americans  are  coming  to  feel, 
as  did  Socrates  faced  with  the  emancipated  youth  of  Athens, 
that  this  insistence  upon  the  complete  moral  autonomy  of 
the  individual  self  is  dangerous.  An  individualistic  ethic  has 
given  us,  to  be  sure,  a  sharpened  sense  of  rights  and  duties, 
a  deeper  insight  into  the  moral  problem.  But  it  has  proven 
particularistic,  fond  of  abstractions,  relativistic,  sceptical, 
even  pessimistic  in  its  attitude  toward  the  moral  ideal.  It 
stands  in  need  of  the  poise,  the  hopefulness,  the  consciousness 
of  power  gained  through  more  intimate  contact  with  the  set- 
ting of  institutional  selves  from  which  it  has  revolted. 

Our  immediate  task  is  to  take  the  enrichment  of  the  moral 
experience,  the  deepened  insight  into  moral  truth  gained  by 
the  individualistic  self,  and  put  them  into  use  at  the  level 
of  the  institutional  selves.  The  traditional  group  morality 
represented  by  the  institutional  self  must  be  lifted  to  the 
level  of  the  emancipated  individual  self.  In  this  wise  the 
individual  self  will  regain  that  solidarity  which  it  has  lost 
and  the  institutional  self  will  gain  the  enlightenment  and 
moral  sensitiveness  it  lacks. 


CHAPTER  XHI 
THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

§  i.   THE  DEBT  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL  TO  THE  INSTITUTION 

BY  way  of  supplement  to  the  more  or  less  theoretical  discus- 
sion of  the  foregoing  chapter  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  add  some 
practical  observations  as  to  the  relation  of  the  individual  and 
the  institution.  We  have  to  ask  first  what  is  the  debt  of 
the  individual  to  the  institution?  The  individual  is  dependent 
upon  the  institution  above  everything  else  because  it  repre- 
sents the  accumulated  wisdom  of  the  nation  and  of  the  race. 
The  institution  occupied  the  stage  long  before  the  individual 
made  his  appearance.  The  institution,  therefore,  exhibits  the 
traits  of  a  gray-haired  old  man,  namely,  conservatism,  the 
emphasis  of  authority  and  precedent,  lack  of  plasticity,  the 
dignity  and  poise  born  of  ripe  experience,  and  scorn  for  fads 
or  thoughtless  innovations.  The  institution  is  essentially  pa- 
ternalistic. Its  measures  of  values  are  sought  in  the  past 
rather  than  in  the  present.  Just  because  of  these  traits  the 
institution  appears  to  childhood  and  immature  youth  to  speak 
the  final  word  of  wisdom,  to  embody  the  sober  and  chastened 
knowledge  of  the  race. 

It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  sheer  fact 
of  social  survival  establishes  no  a  priori  claim  to  absolute 
finality  for  the  institution.  To  assert  of  an  institution  that 
every  part  of  it  "  has  survived  because  it  was  in  some  sense 
the  fittest  "Ms  hardly  justifiable.  We  thereby  attribute  to 
the  constitution  of  society  as  a  whole  and  to  the  process  of 
evolution  a  fundamentally  rational  character  which  the  facts 
do  not  warrant.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that  emphasis  of 
survival  and  the  value  of  the  selective  process  in  social  evo- 

1  Cooley,  Social  Organization,  p.  320. 

214 


THE  SELF-MADE  MAN  215 

lution  has  been  overdone.1  Many  institutions  survive  not 
because  of  their  inherent  value  but  because  they  occupy  a 
protected  position  in  the  social  order.  Others  represent  the 
sheer  inertia  of  social  habits.  Like  glacial  boulders  on  a  New 
England  farm  they  persist,  not  because  they  possess  social 
utility  or  fit  their  environment,  but  because  they  are  able  to 
resist  the  disintegrating  forces  of  the  cosmic  weather. 

Even  those  who  revolt  against  the  institution  thereby  con- 
fess their  debt  to  it.  "All  innovation  is  based  upon  con- 
formity, all  heterodoxy  on  orthodoxy,  all  individuality  on 
solidarity  ".  Paradox,  to  a  certain  extent,  lies  at  the  very 
heart  of  life.  Augustine,  while  repudiating  the  institutions 
of  the  cimtas  terrena  as  utterly  given  over  to  sin  and  destruc- 
tion, was  unable  to  construct  his  civitas  del  without  smuggling 
in  the  logical  framework  of  the  pagan  city-state  he  had 
condemned.  Luther  and  the  reformers,  who  used  the  indi- 
vidualistic and  radical  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith  to 
pry  the  world  loose  from  the  decadent  authoritarianism  of 
the  mediaeval  church,  found  it  necessary  to  substitute  for 
the  authority  of  the  church  the  authority  of  the  Book.  The 
founders  of  American  democracy  vigorously  rejected  the 
political  absolutism  of  kings  only  to  find  refuge  under  the 
metaphysical  absolutism  of  the  eighteenth  century  doctrine  of 
a  body  of  unalterable  and  inalienable  human  rights,  the  final 
definition  of  which  was  laid  down  in  the  Constitution. 

§  2.   THE  SELF-MADE  MAN 

There  is  deeply  implanted  in  American  life  an  antagonism 
to  the  institution.  Since  this  antagonism  is  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  lack  of  an  efficient  social  conscience  it  merits 
a  more  detailed  analysis.  This  anti-institutional  bent  appears 
in  business  and  in  the  world  of  practical  affairs  in  the  glorifi- 
cation of  the  self-made  man.  The  self-made  man  is  the  flower 
of  American  individualism  and  presupposes  a  background 
partly  religious  (Puritanism),  partly  political  (natural  rights), 

1  Folsom :  "  The  Social  Psychology  of  Morality,"  The  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  23,  p.  433  f . 


216        THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

partly  economic  (Adam  Smith's  economic  man  and  the  doc- 
trine of  "  enlightened  selfishness  "),  and  partly  the  outgrowth 
of  a  first-hand  struggle  with  the  untamed  forces  of  nature. 
The  ethic  of  the  self-made  man  assumes  the  autonomy  of  the 
individual.  He  is  supposed  not  to  stand  in  need  of  his  fel- 
lows to  attain  his  ends.  Rather  he  bends  them  to  serve  his 
will.  It  follows  from  the  philosophy  of  the  self-made  man 
that  life  is  essentially  a  fight,  a  struggle  with  men  who  like 
oneself  are  trying  to  master  other  men  and  the  machinery 
of  the  social  order  in  their  own  interests.  Hence  the  pre- 
dominance of  the  militant  virtues  in  the  ethic  of  the  self-made 
man.  The  worshipful  man  is  the  masterful  man.  This  is  a 
form  of  Nietzsche's  Uebermensch,  softened  and  disguised  by 
a  democratic  environment.  In  those  happy  hunting-grounds 
of  the  self-made  man,  the  world  of  business,  it  is  by  no  means 
unusual  to  find  the  philosophy  of  Wille-zur-Macht,  masquerad- 
ing, to  be  sure,  under  the  form  of  unrestricted  competition. 
But  the  self-made  man's  neglect  of  those  values  embodied 
in  the  institution  exacts  its  penalty.  It  strips  him  of  a  sense 
of  social  responsibility,  the  indispensable  lever  for  reform, 
the  inspiration  to  social  progress.  Hence  the  example  of  the 
self-made  man  has  encouraged  in  many  Americans  a  state 
of  mind  that  makes  an  effective  social  conscience  impossible. 
For  example,  his  individualistic  idea  of  ownership  threatens 
constantly  to  absorb  or  deny  those  social  values  for  which  the 
institution  of  property  exits.  Property  has  significance  for 
the  self-made  man  primarily  because  it  is  owned.  Thus  prop- 
erty values  gain  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  only  as 
appanages  of  individual  rights,  as  instruments  for  furthering 
private  and  individual  ends. 

Too  often  the  higher  spiritual,  moral,  or  aesthetic  values, 
the  most  precious  heritage  of  the  race,  embodied  in  the  insti- 
tutional forms  of  civilization,  have  little  or  no  place  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  self-made  man.  For  his  claim  to  pre- 
eminence is  based  upon  opposition  to,  or  at  least  independence 
of,  these  values.  To  acknowledge  that  all  the  permanent 
achievements  in  the  field  of  science,  art,  religion,  or  even  of 


THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION         217 

industry  are  never  the  work  of  one  man,  is  a  confession  of 
weakness  and  limitation. 

Into  the  great  Gothic  cathedrals  of  northern  France  en- 
tered the  religious  aspirations  and  artistic  genius  of  genera- 
tions of  men.  The  series  of  inventions  that  paved  the  way 
for  the  industrial  revolution  during  the  eighteenth  century  were 
the  products  of  many  brains.  The  perfecting  and  applying  of 
scientific  method  to  the  problems  of  modern  life  were  the 
joint  achievement  of  three  great  European  nations,  France, 
England,  and  Germany.  These  enduring  higher  values,  the 
joint  creation  of  the  past,  lie  safeguarded  in  political,  scientific, 
and  religious  institutions,  in  the  masterpieces  of  literary  and 
plastic  art.  Slowly  did  they  receive  articulate  form  through 
the  loyal  and  whole-hearted  devotion  of  a  great  company 
of  noble  spirits  that  were  inspired  by  the  thought,  "  He 
that  loseth  his  life  shall  find  it ".  This  sublime  self-abnega- 
tion, this  patient  elimination  of  the  hard  and  unlovely  out- 
croppings  of  individuality,  this  merging  of  self  into  something 
that  transcends  self,  or  rather  this  rediscovery  of  self  in  the 
institution,  the  nation  or  the  race — this  attitude  is  one  that 
the  self-made  man  cannot  understand.  He  cannot  realize 
that  his  very  claim  to  greatness  is  a  confession  of  essential 
weakness  and  limitations.  He  fails  to  see  that  he  is  admired 
not  for  what  he  was  able  to  do  in  opposition  to  man's  insti- 
tutional heritage  but  because  of  what  he  was  able  to  do  in 
spite  of  the  unfortunate  handicaps  of  environment,  training, 
or  what  not,  which  prevented  him  from  living  the  fuller  and 
richer  life  he  might  have  lived  had  he  been  able  to  make 
himself  master  of  that  heritage.  In  his  case  as  well  as  in 
every  other  the  institution,  not  the  individual,  provides  the 
measure  of  values. 

§3.   THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION 

The  institution,  however,  has  its  essential  limitations. 
These  arise  out  of  its  origin,  structure,  and  function.  Be- 
cause it  is  traditional  and  affiliated  with  the  past  the  institution 
is  dogmatic  and  authoritarian.  Hence,  the  institution  is  con- 


ai8        THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

stantly  forced  to  compromise  with  new  situations.  It  is  ever 
seeking  means  to  justify  its  ends.  It  is  inclined  to  cultivate 
habits  of  casuistry.  It  is  the  arch  opportunist.  The  institution 
seeks  to  give  concrete  and  permanent  form  to  spiritual  and 
moral  values,  a  task  that  is  possible  only  to  a  limited  degree, 
and  thereby  dooms  itself  to  a  partial,  mechanical,  even  mate- 
rialistic role  in  the  social  order.  These  are  some  of  the  original 
sins  of  the  institution,  "  original "  in  the  sense  that  they 
inhere  in  the  very  nature,  origin,  and  function  of  the  institu- 
tion itself. 

From  the  very  nature  and  purpose  of  the  institution  it 
must  assume  its  own  inherent  and  enduring  worth.  For  it  is 
essentially  autonomous;  it  does  not  look  beyond  itself  for 
its  justification.  The  very  raison  d'etre  of  the  institution 
lies  in  the  fact  that  it  sets  itself  in  permanent  opposition 
to  the  eternal  flux  of  men  and  things.  Its  persistence,  there- 
fore, depends  upon  its  claim  to  have  isolated  from  the  flux 
of  immediate  reality  that  which  endures  and  defies  change. 
Upon  this  service  the  institution  bases  its  claim  to  the  loyalty 
and  obedience  of  men;  to  permit  this  to  be  challenged  is 
for  the  institution  to  stultify  its  own  existence.  Hence  there 
is  a  profound  truth  in  the  remark,  "  The  supernatural  is  al- 
ways a  conceit  of  the  institution  ".  For  the  essence  of  the 
supernatural  lies  in  its  inscrutable  and  self-sufficient  guaran- 
tee of  the  truth  of  its  deliverances.  "  And  Moses  said  unto 
God,  Behold  when  I  come  unto  the  children  of  Israel,  and 
shall  say  unto  them,  The  God  of  your  fathers  hath  sent  me 
unto  you;  and  they  shall  say  to  me,  What  is  his  name? 
what  shall  I  say  unto  them?  And  God  said  unto  Moses,  I 
Am  That  I  Am:  and  he  said,  Thus  shalt  thou  say  unto  the 
children  of  Israel ".  This  is  essentially  the  spirit  of  the  in- 
stitution towards  those  who  seek  its  credentials. 

The  institution  is  the  product  of  the  past.  It  is  the  re- 
sult of  a  slow  process  of  organizing  human  experience,  the 
crystallization  of  ideas,  beliefs,  customs,  and  conventions. 
The  institution,  therefore,  is  essentially  backward-looking.  It 
stands  for  economy.  It  saves  the  individual  the  embarrass- 


THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION         219 

ment  that  would  result  were  he  compelled  to  embark  upon 
an  uncharted  sea  of  moral  endeavor.  It  meets  a  very  deep 
and  a  very  real  human  need  for  a  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord  ". 
But  this  fundamental  need  for  authority,  perhaps  the  chief 
justification  of  the  institution,  easily  degenerates  into  dog- 
matism. Aristotle  has  said,  "  What  seems  to  all  men  is  ". 
The  institution  is  inclined  to  say,  "  What  seems  to  me  is  ". 
For  dogmatism  is  merely  the  result  of  authority  taking  itself 
too  seriously.  When  authority  claims  for  itself  absolute 
finality,  when  it  makes  the  sweeping  proclamation  to  all 
truth  seekers,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  ladened  and  I  will  give  you  rest ",  and  when  finally 
it  refuses  to  submit  its  credentials  to  criticism,  it  has  become 
a  menace  rather  than  a  help  to  the  moral  life. 

The  institution  is  limited  by  its  structure  which  is  partial, 
specialized,  mechanical.  To  be  sure,  the  institution  overtops 
the  individual;  it  outwatches  him  in  the  long  flight  of  the 
years;  it  slowly  accumulates,  as  he  cannot,  the  chastened  wis- 
dom of  generations.  But  the  individual  likewise  surpasses 
the  institution.  For  the  institution  can  at  best  only  accommo- 
date a  segment  of  personality.  A  vigorous  and  many-sided 
individual  overflows  and  makes  use  of  various  institutions. 
It  is  in  personality  rather  than  in  the  institution  that  we  find 
the  wholeness  of  life.  There  is,  therefore,  a  profound  psycho- 
logical truth  underlying  the  phrase  "  soulless  corporation  ". 
For  every  corporation  or  institution  is  but  a  mechanized 
fragment  of  personality.  In  fact  the  menace  of  corporations 
is  just  this  combination  of  power  with  irresponsible  imperson- 
ality. 

Where  the  moral  sensibilities  of  the  individual  or  the 
community  have  been  thoroughly  institutionalized  they  reflect 
this  partial,  negative,  and  mechanical  character.  Institutional 
dominance  of  life  inevitably  dwarfs  and  deadens  the  sensi- 
bilities. Mechanism  and  moral  enthusiasm  are  thoroughly 
incompatible.  Intensity  of  action  and  mechanical  efficiency 
are  purchased  at  the  price  of  narrowness  of  moral  sympathies. 
Here  we  have  the  solution  of  some  of  the  strange  paradoxes 


220        THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

of  history.  It  explains,  for  example,  how  institutionalized 
Christianity,  though  based  upon  the  principle  of  love,  was 
able  to  countenance  the  cruel  and  inhuman  treatment  of  Jew, 
Moslem,  or  heretic  with  a  perfectly  clear  conscience.  The 
moral  sensibilities  of  the  Christians  of  the  days  of  the  Span- 
ish Inquisition  had  taken  on  the  hard  and  mechanical  char- 
acter of  an  institution  according  to  which  the  burning  of  a 
heretic  tended  ad  majorem  del  gloriam.  As  we  have  seen  in 
the  chapter  on  the  organization  of  the  sentiments,  the  emo- 
tions and  sentiments  are  conditioned  by  the  central  ideas, 
the  institutional  ideals  around  which  they  find  organiza- 
tion. 

From  its  nature  and  structure  the  institution  tends  to 
encourage  a  negative  morality.  It  shapes  the  moral  sensi- 
bilities of  the  individual  in  terms  of  "  thou  shalt  nots  ".  It 
sets  metes  and  bounds  for  the  moral  will  but  rarely  makes 
provisions  for  the  free  creative  spontaneity  of  the  unfolding 
moral  life.  The  individual  or  the  community  trained  under 
the  heavy  hand  of  a  negative  institutional  morality  is  slowly 
but  inevitably  educated  into  a  condition  of  moral  impotence. 
For  training  in  moral  initiative  alone  assures  resourcefulness 
in  the  face  of  unforeseen  difficulties.  Lecky  thus  describes 
the  tragic  straits  to  which  the  mediaeval  man  was  reduced, 
schooled  as  he  had  been  in  the  negative  institutionalized 
morality  of  the  church,  when  he  faced  the  new  movements  of 
thought  that  finally  culminated  in  the  revival  of  learning: 
"  Doubt  was  almost  universally  regarded  as  criminal,  and 
error  as  damnable;  yet  the  first  was  the  necessary  condition, 
and  the  second  the  probable  consequence,  of  inquiry.  Totally 
unaccustomed  to  independent  reasoning,  bewildered  by  vast 
and  undefined  fields  of  thought  from  which  the  opposing  ar- 
guments were  drawn;  with  a  profound  sense  of  the  absolute 
necessity  of  a  correct  creed,  and  of  the  constant  action  of 
Satan  upon  the  fluctuations  of  the  will  and  of  the  judgment; 
distracted  and  convulsed  by  colliding  sentiments,  which  an 
unenlightened  psychology  attributed  to  spiritual  inspiration, 
and,  above  all,  parched  with  a  burning  longing  for  certainty; 


THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION         221 

the  minds  of  men  drifted  to  and  fro  under  the  influence  of 
the  wildest  terror  'V  The  inquisition  and  the  witch-burnings 
at  the  close  of  the  middle  ages  were  but  a  final,  desperate 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  institutionalized  conscience  to  be  self- 
consistent. 

Perhaps  the  most  subtle  and  dangerous  effect  of  assimilat- 
ing the  conscience  to  the  demands  of  the  institution  is  that  in 
time  it  creates  a  condition  in  which  the  individual  comes 
unconsciously  to  identify  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience 
with  the  demands  of  the  institution.  When  the  individual 
reaches  that  state  in  which  he  regards  the  beliefs  and  ideals 
of  the  institution  as  his  own,  the  door  of  hope  for  his  own 
moral  emancipation  is  automatically  closed.  He  has  sur- 
rendered to  the  institution  his  right,  together  with  his  ability, 
to  solve  his  moral  problems.  The  process  of  institutionaliza- 
tion  has  been  so  subtle  that  he  may  still  flatter  himself  that 
he  is  exercising  his  own  sovereign  moral  will  while  in  reality 
he  merely  wills  what  the  institution  wishes  him  to  will.  He 
is  unable  to  break  the  closed  circle  because  those  powers  upon 
which  he  must  depend  to  achieve  his  freedom  are  so  shaped 
and  moulded  that  they  find  their  highest  joy  and  most  sacred 
duty  in  doing  the  will  of  the  institution. 

We  are  forced  to  assume  that  something  like  this  com- 
plete institutionalization  of  the  national  conscience  took  place 
in  the  case  of  the  German  people  or  else  we  are  unable  to 
explain  their  national  attitude  in  the  recent  war  and  especially 
their  treatment  of  conquered  peoples.  It  is  at  least  possible  to 
find  a  parallel  between  the  behavior  of  the  German  student 
who  found  relief  from  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  a  Prussian- 
ized social  order  in  the  "  intellectual  anarchy  "  of  Nietzsche 
and  the  behavior  of  the  German  soldier  who  found  respite 
from  the  iron  hand  of  the  drill-sergeant  by  venting  his  un- 
disciplined lust  and  brutality  upon  the  people  of  Belgium. 
May  not  the  fascination  of  Nietzsche's  unbridled  thought  and 
the  exultant  atrocities  wreaked  on  helpless  women  and  chil- 

1  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit  of  Rationalism  in 
Europe,  Vol.  i,  p.  78  f. 


222        THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

dren  be  after  all  a  most  eloquent  witness  to  the  thoroughness 
of  an  institutionalization  which  reduced  paternalistic  Ger- 
many to  a  state  of  moral  impotence?  It  should  at  least 
enable  us  to  place  the  terrible  load  of  responsibility  upon 
the  state,  where  it  belongs,  and  not  upon  the  individual  sol- 
dier. "  With  his  conscience  drugged  and  his  principles  cor- 
rupted by  a  false  and  narrow  patriotism  which  makes  the 
supposed  interests  of  the  state  his  first  and  last  concern,  and 
which  makes  the  cult  of  national  hatred  a  vital  part  of  his 
education,  with  his  character  brutalized  and  his  will  weakened 
by  the  relentless  pressure  of  an  over-rigid  discipline,  with 
his  moral  land-marks  swept  away  by  the  enforced  commis- 
sion of  inhuman  crimes  in  obedience  to  the  authority  which 
furnishes  him  with  his  ideals  as  well  as  with  his  rules  and 
commands, — the  German  soldier  could  scarcely  be  expected 
to  wage  war  with  clemency  or  even  with  common  humanity; 
and  the  wonder  is  not  that  his  misdeeds  have  been  so  many, 
but  that  they  have  been  so  few  'V 

This  self-centering  effect  of  the  thoroughly  institutional- 
ized conscience  and  the  consequent  loss  of  all  moral  perspec- 
tive, exhibited  on  such  a  colossal  and  tragic  scale  in  the  case 
of  Germany,  is  an  all  too  familiar  phenomenon  in  American 
life.  The  institutionalized  conscience  finds  its  moral  end  in 
satisfying  its  immediate  emotional  needs  rather  than  in  the 
solution  of  social  questions.  The  demagogue  or  the  popular 
revivalist  are  well  aware  of  these  psychological  peculiarities. 
Hence,  their  appeals  are  skilfully  directed  for  the  most  part 
to  the  stimulation  of  institutionalized  bodies  of  sentiments 
rather  than  to  the  creation  of  new  enthusiasms  that  may  be 
of  service  in  social  progress.  The  emotional  glow  aroused 
by  the  sermonic  appeal  to  long  cherished  religious  beliefs 
or  by  the  conventional  political  harangue  is  very  easily  mis- 
taken for  genuine  moral  enthusiasm.  But  there  is  no  ethical 
merit  in  the  rekindling  of  habitual  and  institutionalized  ways 
of  thinking  and  feeling.  They  hardly  make  either  the  indi- 
vidual or  the  community  better,  for,  from  their  very  nature, 

*E.  Holmes,  The  Nemesis  of  Docility,  p.  156  f. 


THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  THE  INSTITUTION         223 

they  are  opposed  to  progress;  they  tend  to  travel  in  a  closed 
circle,  the  scope  of  which  is  definitely  determined  by  the 
institutional  order. 

Enlightenment  rather  than  moral  enthusiasm  cast  in  con- 
ventional moulds  is  the  need  of  the  social  conscience  of  to-day. 
The  glorification  of  traditional  heroes  and  leaders  of  thought 
and  the  praise  of  their  deep  insight  into  human  nature  is  too 
often  just  a  subtle  way  that  the  institutionalized  conscience 
has  of  flattering  itself  as  to  the  finality  of  its  own  deliver- 
ances. The  brilliant  ideals  of  the  leaders  of  the  past  are 
often  but  the  ingrained  habits  of  thought  of  the  present. 
Much  that  passes,  therefore,  for  moral  inspiration  and  lead- 
ership is  just  a  clever  and  effective  way  of  reminding  our- 
selves of  the  entirely  obvious.  The  spiritual  or  moral  leader 
who  calls  for  a  more  or  less  fundamental  reorganization  of 
old  loyalties  in  order  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  new  and  untried 
situations  is  more  than  often  regarded  as  a  very  uncom- 
fortable person. 

It  is  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  institutionalized  conscience 
that  casuistry  tends  to  flourish.  Casuistry  in  the  most  com- 
prehensive sense  is  a  form  of  mental  and  moral  accommo- 
dation. In  general  it  is  applied  to  cases  of  conscience  or 
moral  situations  where  there  is  uncertainty  as  to  the  dictates 
of  duty.  It  is  obvious  that  where  we  have  a  mechanical 
organization  of  ethical  loyalties  in  terms  of  the  demands 
of  an  institution  a  gap  must  inevitably  arise  between  this 
fixed  institutional  life  and  the  problems  of  the  evolving  social 
order.  Hence  an  unavoidable  and  thoroughly  legitimate  form 
of  casuistry  will  always  arise  in  time  of  transition  and  read- 
justment in  the  life  of  the  individual  and  the  community.  In 
this  sense  the  casuistry  of  Protagoras  and  the  Sophists  or  of 
Machiavelli  and  the  sceptics  of  the  Renaissance  was  the 
logical  outgrowth  of  the  needs  of  the  age.  Casuistry  is  in  a 
sense  an  indication  of  a  vigorous  and  expanding  moral  life. 
Its  absence  would  indicate  stagnation  of  thought  and  conduct. 
The  series  of  decisions  by  which  the  Supreme  Court  inter- 
preted the  meaning  of  the  Fourteenth  Amendment  and  adapted 


224        THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  INSTITUTION 

it  to  the  problems  of  a  developing  national  life  are  excellent 
illustrations  of  casuistry  in  the  sphere  of  law.1 

But  given  a  situation  in  which  no  provision  is  made  for 
this  necessary  accommodation  of  general  principles  to  the 
new  issues  as  they  arise  in  the  course  of  social  evolution, 
where  moral  science  consists  simply  in  elucidating  and  apply- 
ing to  new  problems  ethical  principles  laid  down  authorita- 
tively once  for  all,  and  we  have  a  phase  of  casuistry  incom- 
patible with  a  sane  and  healthful  moral  life.  In  such  a  situa- 
tion one  of  two  things  usually  happens.  We  may  have  the 
creation  of  an  interminable  series  of  rules  and  detailed  excep- 
tions intended  to  adapt  these  general  and  unalterable  principles 
to  the  changing  social  order.  The  tendency  of  this  is  to  make 
of  ethics  mere  moral  quibbling.  More  often  we  find  that 
men  hold  on  to  the  external  form  and  letter  while  as  a  matter 
of  fact  they  read  into  them  ideas  utterly  foreign  to  their 
original  meaning.  This  results  in  creating  an  atmosphere  of 
intellectual  dishonesty.  Both  of  these  tendencies  have  con- 
tributed their  part  to  the  traditional  atmosphere  of  suspicion 
associated  with  the  term  casuistry. 

The  thoroughly  institutionalized  conscience  cannot  escape 
from  casuistry  of  the  objectionable  type.  The  institution, 
with  its  claim  to  finality,  is  forced  to  find  the  justification 
of  the  means  in  the  end.  It  must  compromise  with  the  facts 
or  lose  its  hold  upon  the  loyalties  of  men.  For  from  the 
institutional  point  of  view  a  dogma  exists  to  be  believed,  a 
law  is  on  the  statute  books  to  be  enforced,  a  belief  must  find 
support  in  the  existing  facts.  So  long  as  this  view  is  main- 
tained rather  than  the  pragmatic  notion  that  the  value  of  the 
institution  lies  in  the  furthering  of  human  interests,  the 
facilitating  of  needed  adjustments  and  the  elimination  of  fric- 
tion, the  moral  life  will  be  sacrificed  to  the  institution. 

1  See  Mecklin,  Democracy  and  Race  Friction,  Ch.  8. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  225 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books:    BALDWIN,    J.   M. :    The    Individual    and    Society,    1911; 
BOSANQUET,  B. :  The  Philosophical  Theory  of  the  State,  pp.  170  £.,  296  f . ; 
COOLEY,    C.   H. :    Social   Organisation,   Chs.   28-32 ;    DEWEY   AND   TUFTS  : 
Ethics,  pp.  192  ff,  427  ff. :  FITE,  W. :  Individualism,  1916;  MC!VER,  R.  M. : 
Community,  pp.   149  ff. ;   STEPHEN,  L. :   The  Science  of  Ethics,  Ch.  Ill ; 
WARD,  L.  F. :  Pure  Sociology,  pp.  184  ff. 

2.  Articles :  LLOYD,  A. :  "  The  Institution  and  Some  of  Its  Original 
Sins."    American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  13,  pp.  523  ff. ;  McDouGALL: 
"  The   Social   Basis   of   Individuality."     American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
Vol.  18,  pp.  i  ff. ;  STOOPS,  J.  S. :  "  The  Institutional  Self."    International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  23,  pp.  193  ff. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  HOME 

§  i.   THE  INSTINCTIVE  BASIS  OF  THE  HOME 

THE  social  psychologist  has  called  attention  to  the  funda- 
mental position  occupied  by  the  family  instincts  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  higher  forms  of  civilization.  "  It  is  probable  ", 
says  McDougall,  "  that  these  two  instincts  in  conjunction, 
the  reproductive  and  the  parental  instincts,  directly  impel 
human  beings  to  a  greater  sum  of  activity,  effort,  and  toil,  than 
all  the  other  motives  of  human  action  taken  together  ".* 
These  instincts  and  their  emotional  accompaniments  provide 
the  raw  material  from  which  are  sprung  those  benevolent 
impulses  that  find  expression  in  the  humanizing  of  war,  the 
erection  of  hospitals  for  the  relief  of  disease  and  suffering, 
the  laws  to  protect  the  child  in  industry,  the  regulations  safe- 
guarding women  workers,  as  well  as  the  measures  to  protect 
dumb  animals.  The  sentiments  born  of  the  tender  emotions 
centering  around  the  home,  the  mother  and  the  child  have 
moved  men  to  embark  on  great  struggles  for  social  justice  as 
in  the  case  of  the  abolition  of  slavery,  both  in  its  older  form 
of  chattel  slavery  and  in  its  modern  form  of  the  white  slave 
traffic.  It  has  been  contended  that  one  secret  of  the  hold  of 
the  Christian  faith  upon  the  hearts  of  men  is  to  be  found  in 
the  central  place  it  gives  to  the  family.  The  beautiful  cult 
of  the  Mother  and  the  Child  is  not  among  the  least  of  the 
elements  in  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  enabling  it  to  keep 
the  loyalties  of  men  of  every  race  for  centuries.  The  appeal 
of  das  Ewig  Weibliche  is  rooted  in  the  powerful  instincts  that 
find  expression  through  the  family. 

In  facing  the  exceedingly  complex  and  difficult  problems 

1  Social  Psychology,  p.  269. 

226 


THE  INSTINCTIVE  BASIS  OF  THE  HOME  227 

that  center  around  the  status  of  woman  and  the  home  in 
modern  society  it  is  well  to  remember,  therefore,  that  back 
of  external  social  phenomena,  pathological,  or  otherwise,  lie 
these  human  instincts  that  cannot  be  eliminated  or  ignored. 
Our  highly  rationalized  modern  order,  with  its  machine  process, 
its  impersonal  pecuniary  economy,  its  anarchistic  individualism 
that  poses  as  the  last  word  on  democracy  and  freedom,  is 
after  all  a  very  recent  phase  of  social  evolution.  Long  before 
pure  reason  had  ever  aspired  to  direct  the  course  of  human 
life  with  calm  indifference  to  the  demands  of  instinct  and 
emotion  the  family  had  arisen  as  the  chosen  instrument  for 
giving  expression  to  instinctive  needs.  We  have  stripped  the 
family  of  its  religious  sanctions,  permitted  the  machine  process 
to  disintegrate  its  ancient  bonds,  while  attempting  weakly 
to  substitute  the  pale  abstractions  of  a  socialized  democracy 
as  the  safeguard  of  its  integrity. 

It  may  be  true,  as  writers  have  alleged,  that  this  instinc- 
tive basis  of  the  family  is  growing  weaker  and  that  it  must 
be  held  together  in  the  future  by  other  ties.  Even  granting 
this  contention,  for  which  it  must  be  confessed  there  seems 
to  be  little  tangible  evidence,  the  process  of  social  selection 
seems  of  such  a  character  as  to  correct  such  a  decay  of  the 
parental  instincts.  For  in  the  case  of  individual  variations 
where  this  instinct  is  weak  these  individuals  tend  to  eliminate 
themselves  owing  to  the  fact  that  they  have  fewer  children  than 
those  in  whom  the  parental  instinct  is  strong.  Finally,  it  is 
argued  that  culture  itself  is  inimical  to  the  instincts  and  often 
makes  for  their  repression.  It  seems  a  fair  inference  to 
many  that  those  groups  which  have  cast  off  the  supernatural 
and  traditional  sanctions  for  the  home  and  tend  to  subject 
the  instincts  to  the  inhibitory  influence  of  pure  thought  are 
in  danger  of  eliminating  themselves  or  at  least  of  placing 
themselves  at  a  decided  advantage  in  competition  with  the 
less  sophisticated  groups  in  the  community  in  whom  the 
parental  instincts  function  more  unrestrainedly.  The  problem 
of  the  family  in  American  society  to-day  is  not  merely  a 
question  as  to  whether  we  can  substitute  rationally  thought- 


228  THE  HOME 

out  sanctions  for  the  more  or  less  irrational  urge  of  the  par- 
ental and  reproductive  instincts.  It  is  a  question  as  to  whether 
we  can  vest  in  an  enlightened  public  sentiment  those  sanctions 
for  the  family  once  provided  by  religion,  law,  and  custom. 

§  2.   THE  COLONIAL  HOME 

It  has  been  contended  that  the  English  colonization  of 
America  was  more  successful  than  that  of  the  Latin  countries 
because  it  was  based  upon  the  home.1  Certainly  the  matur- 
ity and  stability  of  the  New  England  colonies  was  due  in  no 
small  degree  to  the  fact  that  they  transferred  to  the  wilder- 
ness the  home  traditions  of  the  mother  country.  The  poor 
success  of  the  early  settlers  in  Virginia  arose  from  the 
fact  that  they  were  to  a  large  extent  homeless  adventurers 
who  came  to  the  New  World  to  make  their  fortunes.  It 
was  Sir  Edwin  Sandys,  director  of  the  Virginia  Colony, 
who  detected  the  cause  of  the  discontent  and  failure.  "  We 
must  find  them  wives,  in  order  that  they  may  feel  at  home  in 
Virginia ".  The  ninety  girls  brought  over  to  fill  the  gap 
in  homeless  and  loveless  lives  provide  one  of  the  romantic 
incidents  of  early  colonial  history  which  has  been  skilfully 
exploited  by  an  American  novelist.2 

While  the  home  was  central  in  the  life  of  the  American 
colonist  there  was  considerable  variety  in  the  types  of  home 
life.  New  England  with  its  homogeneous  population  and 
its  Hebraistic  conceptions  of  the  family  gotten  from  Calvin- 
ism was  different  from  Virginia  with  its  more  liberal  Angli- 
canism. In  New  England  the  church  overshadowed  the 
home  and  did  not  hesitate  to  interfere  with  its  seclusion  and 
intimacy  in  the  interest  of  religion.  In  Virginia  the  home 
tended  to  absorb  the  functions  both  of  church  and  school. 
The  Virginia  home,  based  upon  the  plantation  and  shut  off 
from  other  homes,  was  far  more  of  an  economic  and  social 

1 1  am  greatly  indebted  in  this  and  the  following  sections  to  the  ma- 
terial on  the  American  home  gathered  by  Mr.  Arthur  W.  Calhoun,  in  his 
monumental  work,  A  Social  History  of  the  American  Family.  See  also 
Goodsell,  The  Family  as  a  Social  and  Educational  Institution,  Chs.  X-XIV. 

2  Mary  Johnson,  To  Have  and  to  Hold. 


THE  COLONIAL  HOME  229 

unit.  New  York  and  New  Jersey  were  forced  to  take  a 
generous  attitude  towards  the  home,  partly  because  of  the 
liberal  Protestantism  of  the  Dutch  and  the  mixed  character 
of  the  people  of  New  Jersey.  Pennsylvania,  owing  to  the 
presence  of  Quakers,  Germans,  and  Scotch-Irish,  likewise 
adopted  a  liberal  policy  towards  the  home.  The  Quakers, 
like  the  Puritans,  stressed  the  civil  nature  of  marriage  and 
exhibited  a  charming  hospitality  that  still  lingers  in  the  homes 
of  their  descendants.  In  the  German  home  emphasis  was 
laid  upon  thrift  and  industry.  "  Upon  the  birth  of  a  son, 
they  exult  in  the  gift  of  a  ploughman  or  a  waggoner;  and 
upon  the  birth  of  a  daughter  they  rejoice  in  the  addition  of 
another  spinster  or  milkmaid  to  the  family  ".  In  the  pioneer 
home  of  the  Scotch-Irish  of  the  western  frontier  the  stern 
tenets  of  Calvinism  lost  something  of  the  somberness  that 
darkened  the  New  England  home  because  of  the  freer  life  and 
the  sturdy  common  sense  of  the  Scot. 

The  factors  that  shaped  the  colonial  home  were  in  the 
main  economic,  religious,  and  legal,  and  of  these  the  economic 
were  doubtless  the  most  important.  The  home  was  the  social, 
educational,  religious,  but  especially  the  economic  unit  of 
colonial  society.  Families  were  large  and  the  pressure  of  the 
struggle  for  existence  as  well  as  religious  sanctions  urged  to 
"  be  fruitful  and  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth  ".  The 
fearful  toll  taken  from  colonial  womanhood  in  childbearing 
can  be  read  to-day  in  the  simple  records  of  New  England 
tombstones.  To  the  children,  only  a  small  percentage  of 
whom  actually  attained  adulthood,  were  added  unmarried 
relatives,  children  by  previous  marriages,  children  of  the  poor 
bound  out,  and  the  servants.  The  colonial  home,  not  only  on 
the  plantations  of  Virginia,  but  likewise  in  New  England,  was 
often  quite  an  establishment.  During  the  age  of  domestic 
industry  it  was  here  that  the  needs  of  the  community  were 
met  and  here  that  labor  found  employment. 

Strong  pressure  in  the  interest  of  production,  increase  of 
population  and  general  social  efficiency  was  brought  to  en- 
courage marriage.  Bachelors  were  little  short  of  social 


230  THE  HOME 

pariahs.  A  woman  had  no  status  outside  of  a  family  and 
spinsterdom  was  a  reproach.  "  An  old  (or  superannuated) 
maid  in  Boston  is  thought  such  a  curse,  as  nothing  can  exceed 
it  (and  looked  on  as  a  dismal  spectacle)".  Those  who  did 
not  marry  were  required  in  New  Haven  to  live  in  "  licensed  " 
families  where  they  were  under  surveillance  and  were  forced 
to  "  walk  diligently  in  a  constant  lawful  employment,  attend- 
ing both  family  duties  and  the  public  worship  of  God,  and 
keeping  good  order  day  and  night  or  otherwise  ".  Economic 
pressure  brought  about  speedy  remarriages.  Women  mar- 
ried to  get  heads  of  their  households  and  managers  for  their 
properties  and  the  men  for  housekeepers.  Judge  SewalPs 
adventures  as  an  aged  wooer  are  exceedingly  illuminating  as 
throwing  light  upon  the  economic  phase  of  marriage.  The 
bargainings  and  bickerings  between  him  and  the  various 
fair  widows  whom  he  approached  may  also  serve  to  dissipate 
some  of  the  romance  associated  with  Puritan  wooings  by 
the  story  of  Priscilla  and  John  Alden.  Life  was  a  stern 
struggle  in  which  romance  played  a  subordinate  part. 

The  home  was  the  industrial  training  school  for  the  rising 
generation.  In  the  daily  round  of  tasks  done  in  the  home, 
boy  and  girl  were  equipped  for  their  future  duties  as  heads 
of  homes  of  their  own.  And  the  richness  and  variety  of  this 
training  may  be  imagined  from  the  fact  that  within  the  circle 
of  the  home  were  performed  all  those  processes  connected 
with  the  production  of  food,  clothing,  and  the  like  that  are 
now  relegated  to  mill  and  factory.  This  economic  training 
was  supplemented  by  religious  and  intellectual  education, 
which  in  the  case  of  boys  of  the  better  classes  was  followed 
by  courses  in  the  grammar  school  and  the  college.  The  intel- 
lectual training  of  the  colonial  girl  was  scant.  The  prevailing 
conception  of  woman's  education  was  expressed  in  the  lines, 

"  Give  me  next  good,  an  understanding  wife, 
By  nature  wise,  not  learned  much  by  art. 

A  passive  understanding  to  conceive, 
And  judgment  to  discern  I  wish  to  find. 


THE  COLONIAL  HOME  231 

Beyond  that  all  as  hazardous  I  leave; 
Learning  and  pregnant  wit  in  woman-kind, 
What  it  finds  malleable  maketh  frail, 
And  doth  not  add  more  ballast  but  more  sail." 

Religious  forces  also  shaped  the  colonial  home.  This  was 
especially  true  of  New  England  with  its  Puritan  atmosphere. 
Calvinism  emphasized  thrift,  the  faithful  prosecution  of  a 
"  calling  ",  an  ascetic  attitude  towards  luxury  or  indulgence 
that  favored  accumulation.  Calvinism  also  placed  a  strong 
taboo  upon  sex.  The  emphasis  upon  frugality  made  for  the 
stern  repression  of  wasteful  sexual  indulgences.  Male  chastity, 
not  being  economically  and  socially  as  wasteful  as  female, 
was  never  so  strenuously  enforced.  The  life  of  the  child  in 
the  Puritan  home  was  singularly  distorted,  from  our  modern 
point  of  view,  owing  to  the  reign  of  a  faith  that  taught  the 
innate  wickedness  of  the  child  nature.  Pressure  was  early 
brought  upon  the  child  to  secure  its  conversion  and  rescue 
from  the  eternal  torments  to  which  it  was  doomed  by  Adam's 
primal  sin.  Leslie  Stephen  remarks  that  the  complacency  with 
which  Jonathan  Edwards  narrates  the  mental  anguish  he  caused 
his  little  daughter  by  dilating  upon  her  depraved  and  lost 
estate  makes  one  feel  like  using  a  horsewhip.  Calvinistic 
likewise  is  the  Hebraistic  idea  of  the  family  that  subjected 
wife,  children,  and  servants  to  the  iron  rule  of  the  pater- 
familias. "  His  children  and  servants  he  mightily  encouraged 
in  the  study  of  the  Scriptures,  and  countenanced  their  ad- 
dresses to  him  with  any  of  their  inquiries;  but  when  he  saw 
any  of  them  negligent  about  the  concerns  either  of  their  gen- 
eral or  particular  callings,  he  would  admonish  them  with 
such  penetrating  efficacy,  that  they  could  scarce  forbear  fall- 
ing down  at  his  feet  with  tears.  A  word  from  him  was 
enough  to  steer  them ".  Even  sweet  Margaret  Winthrop, 
though  dearly  loved  by  her  husband,  addressed  him  as  "  lord  ". 
Contrast  this  patriarchal  role  of  the  head  of  the  family  with 
his  position  to-day  and  one  gains  some  idea  of  the  funda- 
mental transformations  through  which  the  American  home 
has  passed. 


232  THE  HOME 

In  one  respect  Puritanism  seemed  to  have  exercised  a 
liberalizing  influence  upon  the  home  and  marriage,  namely, 
in  regard  to  divorce.  It  inherited  the  Protestant  tradition 
of  Luther  and  Calvin  that  made  marriage  a  civil  matter. 
The  liberal  attitude  of  Milton  towards  divorce  is  well  known 
and  this  notion  lingered  with  the  Puritans.  But  economic 
pressure,  the  paramount  position  of  importance  of  the  family 
in  colonial  life  and  the  natural  conservatism  both  of  Puritan 
and  Scotch-Irish  prevented  this  liberal  note  from  ever  becom- 
ing pronounced.  New  England  differed,  however,  from  the 
more  conservative  South  in  that  divorces  were  granted  in 
New  England  while  in  the  South  "  Not  a  case  has  been 
discovered  of  absolute  divorce  by  pre-revolutionary  legisla- 
tures ".  This  was  due  in  the  main  to  the  hold  of  the  Angli- 
can church  upon  the  marriage  relation. 

The  legal  status  of  woman  during  the  colonial  period  was 
determined  by  the  traditions  of  the  common  law  of  England. 
These  presupposed  the  inferiority  of  woman  and  her  com- 
plete subjection  to  the  husband.  Blackstone,  writing  towards 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  says,  "  By  marriage  the 
husband  and  wife  are  one  person  in  law;  that  is,  the  very 
being  or  legal  existence  of  the  woman  is  suspended  during 
the  marriage,  or  at  least  is  incorporated  and  consolidated 
into  that  of  her  husband.  .  .  .  Upon  this  principle  of  a 
union  of  person  in  husband  and  wife  depends  almost  all  the 
legal  rights,  duties,  and  disabilities  that  either  of  them  acquire 
by  the  marriage.  .  .  .  For  this  reason  a  man  cannot  grant 
anything  to  his  wife,  or  enter  into  covenant  with  her;  for  the 
grant  would  be  to  suppose  her  separate  existence,  and  to 
covenant  with  her  would  be  only  to  covenant  with  himself; 
and  therefore  it  is  also  generally  true  that  all  compacts  made 
between  husband  and  wife  when  single  are  voided  by  the 
intermarriage  ".1 

In  general,  it  may  be  said  that  the  colonial  home  was  the 
product  of  the  mores  brought  from  the  Old  Country,  and 

1  Quoted  by  Goodsell,  The  Family  as  a  Social  and  Educational  Institu- 
tion, p.  346. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD       233 

especially  England,  modified  to  a  considerable  extent  by  the 
outcome  of  the  struggle  with  the  wilderness.  Being  moulded 
for  the  most  part  by  the  traditions  of  the  middle  class  group, 
the  family  was  strongly  tinged  with  property  interests.  In 
a  loose  and  precarious  pioneer  existence  the  family  was 
of  priceless  value  as  an  instrument  of  social  control  and 
material  progress.  Functioning  in  a  society  with  more  or  less 
of  caste  distinction,  the  family  naturally  fell  under  the 
control  of  the  upper  class  who  utilized  it  to  accomplish  their 
own  ends  in  politics,  business,  education,  and  religion. 

§3.    THE  HOME  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD 

There  is  little  in  common  between  the  social  norms  that 
shape  the  position  of  the  home  in  modern  life  and  those 
underlying  the  colonial  home.  During  the  transitional  period, 
reaching,  roughly  speaking,  from  the  war  of  independence  to 
the  civil  war,  there  was  almost  an  entire  break  with  the  old 
order  of  things.  The  home  changed  with  the  fundamental 
changes  incident  to  the  development  of  a  national  life  so  that 
by  the  close  of  the  civil  war  the  home  had  assumed  most  of 
those  traits  that  characterize  it  to-day. 

Three  factors  stand  out  conspicuously  in  their  influence 
upon  the  home  during  the  transition  period,  namely,  chattel 
slavery  or  the  "  peculiar  institution  "  of  the  South,  the  spread 
of  the  industrial  revolution  with  its  concomitant  urban  indus- 
trialism, and  finally  the  individualistic  democracy  that  was 
nourished  by  the  atmosphere  of  the  frontier.  Of  these  three 
factors  the  last  two  were  most  important  for  the  home.  Their 
influences  are  with  us  still,  only  in  more  aggravated  form. 
With  the  debacle  of  the  slave  power  the  home  of  both  black" 
and  white  in  the  South  has  been  rapidly  adjusting  itself  to 
the  new  order.  The  aftermath  of  slavery  is  still  in  evidence 
in  the  negro  home  of  the  "  black  belt "/  while  with  the  white 
it  has  become  little  more  than  a  memory. 

The  effects  of  the  pioneer  democracy  of  the  earlier  dec- 
ades of  the  last  century  upon  the  old  colonial  home  were 

1  See  Mecklin,  Democracy  and  Race  Friction,  p.  205  f. 


234  THE  HOME 

radical  in  character.  We  are  to-day  just  beginning  to  realize 
their  full  significance.  The  freedom  of  the  frontier  combined 
with  the  philosophy  of  laissez  jaire  to  effect  a  complete  trans- 
formation. The  opening  up  of  a  virgin  continent  removed 
the  economic  pressure  that  had  given  the  colonial  family  its 
position  of  power.  With  the  disappearance  of  pecuniary  con- 
siderations went  questions  of  social  rank  which,  furthermore, 
were  antagonistic  to  the  rising  egalitarianism  that  was  com- 
ing to  be  synonymous  with  democracy.  The  growing  individ- 
ualism tended  more  and  more  to  place  the  child  upon  the 
same  footing  with  the  parent,  thus  weakening  parental  con- 
trol. With  the  triumph  of  the  intense  individualism  of  the 
frontier  went  a  spirit  of  anarchy  that  undermined  the  ancient 
sanctions  so  that  the  family  was  left  without  social  control. 
The  tendency  was  to  make  marriage  a  matter  of  personal 
whim  and  inclination.  Society  was  not  yet  ready  for  the 
development  of  spiritual  and  moral  sanctions  that  would 
secure  the  integrity  of  the  family  in  the  absence  of  the  time- 
honored  economic,  religious,  and  social  sanctions  now  dis- 
credited. Thus  we  see  the  forces  already  at  work  that  have 
given  us  the  modern  problem  of  the  family. 

The  complete  subordination  of  wife  to  husband  under  the 
old  Puritan  regime  was  well  voiced  in  Milton's  lines, 

"  To  whom  thus  Eve  with  perfect  beauty  adorn'd: 
'  My  Author  and  Disposer,  what  thou  bidst 
Unargued  I  obey;  so  God  ordains; 
God  is  thy  law,  thou  mine;  to  know  no  more 
Is  woman's  happiest  knowledge  and  her  praise  V 

But  under  the  influence  of  the  new  pioneer  democracy 
we  detect  the  beginnings  of  a  new  order.  To  be  sure,  the 
change  was  slow.  For  the  best  part  of  the  first  half  of  the 
last  century  woman's  legal  position  in  America  was  little 
short  of  mediaeval.  Prior  to  1840  in  Massachusetts  a  woman 
had  no  legal  right  to  serve  as  treasurer  of  her  own  sewing 
society  without  some  man  being  sponsor  for  her.  But  in 
the  far  West  on  the  isolated  farm  it  was  impossible  to  pre- 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD      235 

serve  the  old  traditions  that  hedged  about  the  woman  of 
colonial  days.  Her  economic  importance  as  the  home-builder 
guaranteed  her  freedom  and  elevated  her  social  standing.  The 
American  woman  in  fact  has  earned  her  emancipation  through 
the  noble  part  she  played  in  the  winning  of  the  great  West. 
These  forces  making  for  the  equality  of  woman  permeated 
the  nation  and  found  their  way  back  to  the  more  settled  East 
by  a  sort  of  social  osmosis. 

The  French  traveler,  DeTocqueville,  writing  about  the 
close  of  the  third  decade  of  the  century,  was  able  to  detect 
this  new  note  of  equality  between  the  sexes.  "  If  they  hold 
that  man  and  his  partner  ought  not  always  to  exercise  their 
intellect  and  understanding  in  the  same  manner,  they  at 
least  believe  the  understanding  of  the  one  to  be  as  sound  as 
that  of  the  other  and  her  intellect  to  be  as  clear  ".  Oberlin 
College  recognized  this  fact  when  it  opened  as  co-educational 
and  gave  the  first  degrees  granted  to  women  in  America  in 
1841.  All  these  forces  making  for  the  emancipation  of  woman 
came  to  a  head  in  a  Woman's  Rights  Convention  that  met 
in  1848  and  drew  up  a  Declaration  of  Feminine  Independence. 
It  is  a  long  and  weary  road  that  woman  has  had  to  travel 
to  freedom  but  the  beginnings  of  that  better  day,  the  full 
tide  of  which  seems  about  to  come  with  a  federal  amendment 
giving  her  the  franchise,  must  be  sought  in  the  pioneer  democ- 
racy of  the  West. 

The  transformation  of  the  home  through  the  new  democ- 
racy is  exhibited  even  more  strikingly  in  the  changed  status 
of  the  child.  America  has  been  called  das  Land  der  Zukunjt 
and  the  future  belongs  to  youth.  It  was  not  surprising,  there- 
fore, that  the  pioneer  should  work  for  the  child,  thereby 
lending  to  the  child  and  to  child-life  a  new  dignity  and  interest. 
Virgin  natural  resources,  furthermore,  offering  unlimited  pos- 
sibilities for  economic  independence  were  but  a  lure  to  entice 
the  boy  from  the  home  and  to  set  him  free  from  the  parental 
control.  The  pressure  of  economic  forces  thus  joined  hands 
with  the  anarchistic  individualism  of  a  pioneer  democracy  to 
undermine  the  old  patriarchal  conception  of  the  home. 


236  THE  HOME 

Radical  democracy  stressed  the  fact  that  the  social  unit  is  not 
the  family  but  the  individual.  Egalitarianism  and  the  sov- 
ereign rights  of  citizenship  tended  to  place  father  and  son 
upon  the  same  plane.  Membership  in  the  larger  political  unit 
overshadowed  the  home-tie  and  tended  to  discredit  it.  The 
new  sense  of  spiritual  solidarity  in  a  more  comprehensive 
democratic  order  where  all  are  equal  and  yet  sovereigns  at 
first  disrupted  the  home  but  was  destined  to  return  towards 
the  close  of  the  century  to  democratize  the  home  and  help 
it  to  adjust  itself  to  the  new  order. 

The  new  spirit  of  tolerance  and  of  freedom  thus  injected 
into  the  home  and  the  life  of  the  child  had  its  good  as  well 
as  its  bad  effects.  It  introduced  the  cult  of  the  child  in  the 
home  as  well  as  the  nation.  A  journal  of  1833  remarks,  "  The 
attention  now  bestowed  on  children  forms  an  interesting  fea- 
ture of  the  day.  An  interest  seems  to  be  rekindling,  analogous 
to  that  which  animated  the  ancient  philosophers  ".  Travelers 
speak  of  the  glad,  free  children  that  grace  the  American  home 
and  "  sparkle  in  the  streets  of  American  towns  like  field 
flowers  in  the  springtime  'V  Such  freedom  and  spontaneity, 
however,  easily  gave  rise  to  youthful  precocity  and  pertness. 
Lack  of  family  discipline  was  a  crying  need  of  the  day,  if 
we  may  trust  the  laments  of  religious  journals.  The  break- 
down of  old  home  traditions  came  so  rapidly  that  there  was 
a  superfluity  of  freedom.  The  children  of  the  earlier  decades 
of  the  last  century  paralleled  in  many  ways  the  children  of 
the  immigrant  families  of  to-day  who  have  broken  with  the 
traditions  of  the  old  country  and  have  not  yet  adjusted  them- 
selves to  the  demands  of  the  new.  This  breakdown  of  the 
family  mores  was  even  more  disastrous  for  the  girls  than  for 
the  boys.  The  young  girls  of  the  early  part  of  the  century 
gave  evidence  of  much  foolish  sentimentality  and  unbridled 
emotionalism.  They  were  given  freedom  and  lacked  the 
proper  training  for  the  exercise  of  this  freedom  in  the  gratifi- 
cation of  emotional  needs. 

The  effect  upon  the  home  of  the  rise  of  a  pioneer  democ- 

1  Calhoun,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  p.  54  f. 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD       237 

racy  was  far  more  beneficial  than  hurtful.  In  the  influence 
of  the  industrial  revolution  upon  the  home,  however,  the 
evil  is  more  equally  mingled  with  the  good.  The  problem 
of  the  child  and  woman  in  industry  appeared  from  the  very 
beginning.  This  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  larger  part  of 
the  men  were  absorbed  by  agriculture.  The  old  Puritan  tra- 
dition of  work  sanctioned  child-labor.  Finally,  statesmen 
such  as  Hamilton  looked  upon  the  mill  as  an  industrial  boon 
that  would  furnish  employment  for  those  who  otherwise  would 
be  idle  or  a  burden  to  the  community.  The  result  was  that 
the  early  American  factories  were  manned  almost  entirely  by 
women  and  children.  We  have  the  beginnings  in  the  New 
England  mills  of  the  family-system  of  labor  to  be  observed 
still  in  the  cotton  mills  of  the  South  where  entire  families 
are  brought  in  from  the  mountains  and  work  in  the  mills. 
The  family  exists,  to  be  sure,  but  the  home  is  largely  sacrificed 
to  the  demands  of  the  new  economic  order. 

The  inevitable  accompaniment  of  the  spread  of  the 
machine  process  was  the  increasing  urbanization  of  the  popu- 
lation. At  the  beginning  of  the  century  only  four  per  cent  of 
the  people  lived  in  cities;  by  the  time  of  the  civil  war  it  had 
mounted  to  sixteen  per  cent.  Before  1830  the  tenement  had 
become  a  problem.  Even  more  subtle,  however,  were  the 
moral  and  spiritual  effects  of  the  industrial  revolution  upon 
the  home.  The  rapid  economic  expansion  made  possible  by 
the  machine  and  the  rise  of  the  money-economy  introduced  a 
materialistic  and  utilitarian  note  that  made  itself  felt  also 
in  the  home.  Home  affections  were  sacrificed  to  the  demands 
of  economic  self-assertion  and  material  success.  The  warmth 
and  intimacy  we  found  in  the  colonial  family,  even  in  spite 
of  its  patriarchal  character,  gave  place  to  an  unsentimental 
matter-of-fact  attitude.  The  family  was  no  longer  necessary 
to  economic  success;  it  became  an  incident  lying  somewhat 
apart  from  immediate  interests  and  purposes.  The  stress 
placed  by  the  rising  capitalistic  order  upon  competition,  the 
inviolability  of  private  property,  and  contract  did  not  make 
for  the  cultivation  of  family  sentiment.  Competition,  in  fact, 


238  THE  HOME 

militated  against  the  fixed  traditions  upon  which  the  family 
had  relied  in  the  past.  Democratic  individualism  only  accen- 
tuated the  forces  of  competitive  industrialism  tending  to  strip 
the  family  of  sentiment.  Throughout  all  these  changes,  how- 
ever, the  American  home  maintained  its  essential  integrity. 
We  have  indeed  in  the  transitional  period  rather  the  begin- 
nings of  problems,  the  full  significance  of  which  for  the  family 
could  not  be  fully  measured  until  the  period  of  the  present. 

§4.   THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  HOME 

During  the  colonial  and  the  transitional  periods  just 
sketched  there  was  no  problem  of  the  home.  That  is,  the 
question  was  never  seriously  raised  as  to  the  place  and  func- 
tion of  the  home  in  the  society  of  the  future.  The  perma- 
nence and  stability  of  the  home  were  inseparably  associated  in 
the  minds  of  men  with  that  of  society  itself.  During  the 
early  eighties,  however,  when  "  the  Great  Society  "  had  at 
last  succeeded  in  taking  on  articulate  form,  sociologists,  minis- 
ters, and  social  reformers  began  seriously  to  interest  them- 
selves as  to  the  integrity  of  the  home.  It  was  in  1885  that 
the  National  Divorce  League  was  formed. 

But  the  reformers  did  not  create  the  problem  of  the  home. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  almost  all  those  factors  cited  to-day  in 
evidence  of  the  instability  of  the  home  were  present  during 
the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  hotel  and 
boarding-house  life,  to  which  some  foreign  critics  have  given 
the  name  der  Amerikanismus,1  was  a  phenomenon  already 
noted  before  the  civil  war.  The  demands  of  business  involv- 
ing absence  from  home,  as  in  the  case  of  the  travelling  man, 
and  the  effect  of  industry  in  breaking  up  the  home  into  indi- 
viduals, for  whom  the  home  was  only  a  place  to  eat  and 
sleep,  were  already  felt  before  1860.  The  rise  of  luxury  and 
the  parasitic  wife,  the  servant  problem,  the  growing  repug- 
nance of  women  for  domestic  drudgery,  the  facilities  offered 
by  an  urbanized  civilization  for  sexual  gratification,  the 
rivalry  of  the  club  with  the  home,  and  finally  the  disintegrat- 

*A.  Forel,  Die  Sexuelle  Frage. 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  HOME  239 

ing  effect  of  excessive  individualism — none  of  these  elements 
are  new  in  the  problem  of  the  modern  home.  They  existed 
in  the  germ  at  least  during  the  first  half  of  the  last  century. 
We  are  concerned,  therefore,  with  forces  that  have  been  at 
work  in  some  cases  for  generations  and  that  are  deeply 
ingrained  in  the  structure  of  society.  To  grapple  with  the 
problem  of  the  home  is  merely  to  raise  the  ultimate  social 
problem  of  which  it  is  but  a  phase. 

Divorce  is  perhaps  the  best  index  to  the  instability  of 
the  home.  Our  data,  however,  include  only  those  cases  that 
reach  the  divorce  courts.  Among  the  poor  desertions  are 
possibly  more  frequent  than  divorce.  It  is  asserted  that  we 
must  increase  the  percentage  at  least  twenty  to  get  the  actual 
facts  as  to  the  instability  of  the  family.1  The  bare  statistics, 
without  this  larger  margin  of  neglected  data,  are  startling 
enough.2  They  indicate  that  in  1885  the  United  States  had 
23,472  divorces,  while  all  other  Christian  countries  had  only 
20,131.  In  1905  the  figures  were  68,000  to  40,000,  the 
United  States  leading  the  rest  of  Christendom  by  28,000 
divorces.  During  the  decade  from  1890  to  1900  divorces 
increased  in  this  country  66.6  per  cent,  or  more  than  three 
times  the  increase  in  population.  By  1906  the  proportion  of 
divorces  to  marriages  was  approximately  i  to  13.9. 3  If  the 
present  rate  of  increase  of  divorce  continues  it  has  been  esti- 
mated that  by  the  end  of  the  century  more  than  half  of  all 
marriages  will  end  in  divorce. 

The  causes  that  have  led  to  this  situation  are  exceedingly 
complicated.  The  unstable  home  merely  epitomizes  the  larger 
problem  of  our  uncertain  morality  for  all  the  forces  concerned 
register  themselves  in  the  home.  No  one  element,  therefore, 
can  explain  the  situation.  At  the  lower  levels  the  factors 
most  in  evidence  in  the  disruption  of  the  home  are  economic 
in  character.  Among  these  the  most  important  perhaps  is 

1  Ellwood,  Sociology  and  Modern  Social  Problems,  p.  137. 

2  Wilcox,  The  Divorce  Problem :  A  Study  in  Statistics,  Columbia  Col- 
lege  Studies,   Vol   I,    1891.     Carroll   D.   Wright,   United   States   Census, 
Special  Report  on  Marriage  and  Divorce,  1909,  Part  I,  pp.  8-22. 

3  Goodsell,  The  Family  as  a  Social  and  Educational  Institution,  p.  458. 


240  THE  HOME 

unemployment.  The  new  industrial  order  likewise  affects  the 
middle  class  home  in  that  it  offers  to  women  careers  of  economic 
independence  and  usefulness.  The  situation  here,  however, 
is  still  further  complicated  by  the  growing  sense  of  personal 
rights  and  dignity  that  rebels  against  the  economic  depend- 
ence and  domestic  drudgery  of  the  home.  With  the  sudden 
amassing  of  great  fortunes  within  the  last  few  decades  we 
have  the  appearance  of  the  parasitic  wife  and  the  multiplica- 
tion of  temptations  to  follow  the  leadings  of  a  selfish  and  irre- 
sponsible individualism  made  familiar  to  us  in  the  domestic 
scandals  of  the  wealthy  classes.  For  both  middle  and  wealthy 
classes  the  problem  is  still  further  complicated  by  gross  igno- 
rance of  the  real  spiritual  meaning  of  the  marriage  relation. 

With  the  passing  of  the  religious  sanctions  once  sur- 
rounding the  marriage  tie,  with  the  decay  of  a  negative  ethic 
and  the  disappearance  of  the  sheer  institutional  inertia  that 
has  always  played  such  a  large  role  in  preserving  the  family 
of  the  past  there  is  no  attempt  on  the  part  of  parents  or  of 
society  to  teach  the  rising  generation  the  moral  and  social 
significance  of  the  family.  This  is  strikingly  illustrated  in 
the  general  ignorance  of  the  social  evil  and  its  insidious 
menace  to  the  integrity  of  the  family.  "  The  number  of 
applications  for  divorce  from  this  cause  ",  writes  Dr.  Prince 
A.  Morrow,  "  especially  in  the  middle  and  upper  classes  of 
society,  is  much  larger  than  is  commonly  supposed.  In  di- 
vorce proceedings  the  cause  of  action  usually  appears  under 
some  non-compromising  name,  such  as  '  cruelty ',  l  non-sup- 
port ',  *  desertion ',  while  the  true  cause  is  never  made  pub- 
lic ".» 

The  fact  that  grave  causes  such  as  desertion,  cruelty, 
adultery,  drunkenness,  and  the  like  constitute  97  per  cent 
of  all  the  grounds  for  divorce  is  eloquent  testimony  to  the 
serious  nature  of  the  forces  causing  this  maladjustment  in 
the  family  relation.  It  is  possible,  in  spite  of  the  complexity 
of  the  factors  involved  in  divorce,  to  classify  practically  all 

1  Social  Disease  and  the  Family,  The  American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
Vol.  14,  p.  629. 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  HOME  241 

of  them  under  one  or  other  of  the  two  categories,  the  eco- 
nomic or  the  moral.  The  two  categories  may  not  be  sharply 
separated,  to  be  sure,  for  they  are  in  reality  but  different 
phases  of  the  same  general  process  of  social  transformation 
through  which  we  are  passing. 

The  effect  of  the  industrial  reorganization  of  society  upon 
the  home  has  been  sketched  in  an  earlier  section.  It  ap- 
pears in  the  tendency  of  the  educated  middle  class  to  restrict 
the  birth  rate  in  the  interest  of  a  higher  standard  of  living. 
It  registers  itself  in  the  inclination  of  the  young  man  of  the 
middle  and  upper  classes  to  postpone  marriage  until  the  selfish 
individualism  of  business  has  stripped  his  life  of  romance 
and  has  incapacitated  him  for  the  loving  and  loyal  self-sacri- 
fice of  wedlock.  It  is  seen  in  the  effect  of  the  "  touch-and-go  " 
existence  of  a  wage-earner,  the  integrity  of  whose  home  life 
is  constantly  jeopardized  by  the  fluctuations  of  "  seasonal 
industries,"  strikes,  or  the  exigencies  of  the  closed  shop.  The 
business  demands  that  offer  the  women  of  the  middle  class  the 
freedom  of  economic  independence,  a  career  and  escape  from 
the  drudgery  of  domesticity  attract  young  women  out  of  the 
home  into  the  store  and  factory  and  unfit  them  for  motherhood 
and  home-building.  Most  serious  of  all  for  the  wage-earning 
group  is  the  lack  of  steady  employment,  now  a  permanent 
factor  in  the  situation,  thanks  to  a  social  order  in  which 
production  is  conducted  sporadically  and  with  reference  to 
the  profits  of  the  investor  rather  than  with  regard  to  the 
consuming  public.  Owing  to  the  spread  of  the  machine  proc- 
ess the  problem  of  unemployment  has  invaded  every  inland 
hamlet  where  the  hum  of  the  factory  has  drowned  the  ring 
of  the  anvil  of  the  village  blacksmith.  A  sympathetic  inves- 
tigation has  revealed  the  part  played  by  unemployment  in 
the  creation  of  that  industrial  flotsam  and  jetsam,  the  I.W.W. 
of  the  far  West.1  Obviously  such  conditions  can  only  result 
in  the  destruction  of  habits  of  industry  and  sobriety,  in  social 
inefficiency  and  unreliability,  in  the  complete  demoralization 

iCarleton  H.  Parker,  "The  I.  W.  W.:  A  Different  View,"  The 
Atlantic  Monthly,  November,  1917. 


242  THE  HOME 

of  the  home  and  ultimately  in  desertion,  pauperism,  vagrancy, 
and  crime. 

Scarcely  less  important  than  industrial  changes  in  its  effect 
upon  the  home  is  the  growing  spirit  of  democracy.  Our 
democratic  ideals  which  existed  for  a  century  as  little  more 
than  counsels  of  political  perfection  have  finally  entered  upon 
a  period  of  socialization.  Since  the  overthrow  of  slavery  the 
middle  of  the  last  century  this  process  of  socialization  has 
progressed  by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  great  contest  of  democ- 
racy with  plutocratic  individualism  was  followed  by  the  titanic 
struggle  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democracy.  All  of  this 
has  served  to  intensify  democratic  loyalties.  The  status  of 
woman  was  the  last  to  be  effected  in  this  spread  of  democracy, 
owing  mainly  to  the  conservative  traditions  of  the  home.  It 
would  be  rank  injustice  not  to  recognize  the  inestimable  value 
hi  our  national  life  of  those  domestic  virtues  that  are  the 
glory  of  the  American  home.  It  would,  however,  be  closing 
our  eyes  to  patent  facts  to  deny  that  these  virtues  have 
flourished  in  a  closed  circle,  the  very  intimacy  and  solidarity 
of  which  has  militated  against  the  development  of  civic  ideals. 
The  spirit  of  loyalty  and  self-sacrifice,  the  feelings  of  pride 
and  of  moral  responsibility  so  generously  manifested  in  the 
home-circle  have  not  been  carried  over  into  civic  life.  Cu- 
riously enough,  those  public  utilities  upon  which  Americans 
place  the  most  emphasis  are  those  that  touch  most  closely 
this  selfish  and  self-centered  life  of  the  home,  namely,  the 
police,  the  fire  department,  and  the  health  officer. 

It  has  proved  unfortunate,  therefore,  both  for  the  home 
and  the  rising  spirit  of  democracy  that  they  have  to  a  certain 
extent  been  opposed  to  each  other.  The  home  has  suffered 
the  more  because  it  has  long  sought  its  sanctions  not  in  an 
enlightened  and  democratized  social  conscience  but  in  time- 
honored  traditions  and  the  more  or  less  external  and  authori- 
tarian prescriptions  of  law  and  religious  dogma.  The  home, 
therefore,  has  found  it  somewhat  difficult  to  assume  the  role 
required  of  it  in  a  progressive  and  self-conscious  democracy. 
For  this  new  role  demands  that  the  home  shall  no  longer 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  HOME  243 

depend  for  its  integrity  and  persistence  upon  arbitrary  exter- 
nal forces  but  upon  free  and  loyal  and  intelligent  and  living 
comradeship.  This  democratic  spirit  has  been  reinforced  by 
the  transformation  wrought  since  the  publication  of  Darwin's 
Origin  of  Species  in  1859,  which  sounded  the  death-knell 
of  authoritarianism  in  theology  and  ethics.  Evolution  has 
gradually  invalidated  our  static,  external,  institutionalized 
scheme  of  values.  Men  are  slowly  coming  to  feel  that  even 
in  as  holy  a  relation  as  that  of  matrimony  the  interests  of 
expanding  personalities  in  a  progressive  commonwealth  of 
human  wills  is  the  ultimate  measure  of  values. 

In  the  light  of  these  facts  it  will  be  seen  that  divorce  in 
America,  which  to  outsiders  has  much  the  appearance  of  a 
national  scandal,  may  be  but  the  superficial  and  passing 
manifestation  of  a  profound  spiritual  and  moral  transforma- 
tion. "  Of  a  truth ",  remarks  Professor  Howard,  "  to  the 
serious  student  of  social  evolution  the  accelerated  divorce 
movement  appears  clearly  as  an  incident  in  the  mighty  process 
of  spiritual  liberation  which  is  radically  changing  the  relative 
positions  of  man  and  woman  in  society.  Through  the  swift 
process  of  individualization  for  the  sake  of  socialization  the 
corporate  unity  of  the  patriarchal  family  has  been  broken 
up  and  even  completely  destroyed.  More  and  more  wife 
and  child  have  been  released  from  the  sway  of  the  house- 
father and  placed  directly  under  the  larger  social  control. 
The  new  solidarity  of  the  state  is  being  won  at  the  expense 
of  the  old  solidarity  of  the  family.  The  family  bond  is  no 
longer  coercion  but  persuasion.  The  tie  which  holds  the 
members  of  the  family  together  is  ceasing  to  be  juridical  and 
becoming  spiritual.  .  .  .  Essentially  the  family  is  becoming 
a  psychic  fact.  Beyond  question  the  individualization  for 
the  sake  of  socialization  is  producing  a  loftier  ideal  of  the 
marital  union  and  a  juster  view  of  the  relative  functions  of 
the  sexes  in  the  world's  work.1 

The  transfer  of  the  seat  of  authority  from  an  external 

1  Howard,  "Is  Freer  Divorce  an  Evil?"  The  American  Journal  of 
Sociology,  Vol.  14,  pp.  771  ff. 


244  THE  HOME 

source  to  the  developing  social  conscience  itself  has  brought 
with  it  serious  responsibility.  It  means  in  the  first  place 
that  the  integrity  and  persistence  of  the  marriage  tie  must 
now  no  longer  depend  upon  independent  and  external  forces 
such  as  custom,  church  or  state.  In  so  far  as  the  marriage 
relation  possesses  moral  and  spiritual  values,  that  is,  in  so 
far  as  it  is  anything  more  than  a  mere  form  or  social  institu- 
tion, its  vitality  must  depend  upon  the  sympathetic  and  intel- 
ligent cooperation  of  human  wills.  The  home,  therefore, 
cannot  longer  persist  through  the  sheer  inertia  of  time-honored 
traditions.  Where  the  real  spirit  of  the  home  is  lacking  it  is 
already  in  process  of  disintegration.  Here  in  this  changed 
social  emphasis  and  the  inability  of  Americans  to  measure 
up  to  this  higher  spiritual  standard  we  must  seek  one  expla- 
nation at  least  for  the  prevalence  of  divorce  in  American 
life.  Reared,  as  the  average  American  has  been,  in  the  hap- 
hazard, unreflective,  and  conventional  ethic  of  a  social  order 
that  has  no  firm  grasp  upon  comprehensive  moral  values,  and 
schooled  as  he  has  been  in  the  past  to  rely  upon  the  tough- 
ness of  his  political  and  social  institutions  to  resist  whatever 
strains  perverse  human  nature  may  subject  them  to,  he  is 
unable  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  situation.  He  has  reached 
his  moral  majority  but  still  insists  upon  retaining  the  habits 
and  manners  of  behavior  of  adolescence. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books:  CALHOUN,  A.  W. :  The  Social  History  of  the  American 
Family,  3  vols.,  1917-19.     Extensive  bibliographies  are  given  at  the  end 
of  each  volume ;   HAGAR,  F.  N. :   The  American  Family,  1905 ;   COLCORD, 
JOANNA  G:  Broken  Homes:  A  Study  of  Family  Desertion  and  Its  Social 
Treatment,  Russ-ell  Sage  Foundation,  1916;  DEALEY,  J.  Q. :  The  Family 
in  Its  Sociological  Aspects,  1912 ;  GOODSELL,  W. :  The  Famliy  as  a  Social 
and  Educational  Institution,  Chs.  10-14;  LICHTENBERGER,  J.  P.:  Divorce: 
A  Study  in  Social  Causation,  1909;  MCDOUGALL,  W. :  Social  Psychology, 
Ch.  10;  MECKLIN,  J.  M. :  Democracy  and  Race  Friction,  pp.  205  ft.  (The 
Negro  Home)  ;  The  United  States  Census,  Special  Report  on  Marriaget 
and  Divorce,  1909;  WILCOX,  W.  F. :  The  Divorce  Problem:  A  Study  in 
Statistics,  Columbia  College  Studies,  Vol.  I,  No.  i,  1891. 

2.  Articles:   Papers  and  Proceedings  of  the  American  Sociological 
Society  for  1908;  Articles  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol. 
14  (1908-9).     TUFTS,  J.  H. :  "Ethics  of  the  Family,"  The  International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  26,  pp.  223  ff . 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

THE  present  moral  bewilderment,  discussed  in  an  earlier 
chapter,  is  due  to  uncertainty  in  the  sphere  of  those  ultimate 
loyalties  dealt  with  in  ethics  and  religion.  The  lower  levels 
of  morals  that  have  to  do  with  the  ordinary  business,  political, 
and  social  relations  of  life  have  remained  intact.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  the  validity  of  contracts,  of  the  payment  of  honest 
debts,  or  of  obligations  devolving  upon  us  in  the  office  or 
the  family  circle.  The  homely  commonplace  virtues  have 
remained  for  the  most  part  unchallenged.  But  they  give  us 
light  and  guidance  only  for  our  immediate  tasks.  They  ex- 
tend no  further  than  the  immediate  environment.  The  deep- 
ening and  widening  individual,  national,  and  international 
experience  has  poured  its  tide  in  upon  us  with  such  over- 
whelming force  that  we  are  overborne  and  swept  from  our 
ancient  moorings  by  a  welter  of  unsolved  problems.  Our 
time-honored  shibboleths  seem  inadequate  instruments  where- 
with to  rationalize  the  elements  in  the  new  and  untried 
present. 

The  charge  has  frequently  been  made  in  these  troublous 
days  that  institutionalized  religion  has  not  measured  up  to 
its  responsibilities  in  providing  the  modern  man  with  the 
spiritual  and  moral  orientation  he  so  desperately  needs.  The 
American  people  have  always  been  and  still  remain  a  deeply 
religious  people.  Moral  idealism,  for  the  average  man,  is 
intimately  associated  with  religious  loyalties.  Any  uncer- 
tainty, therefore,  in  the  deliverances  of  the  church  upon  moral 
issues  means  an  inevitable  laming  of  the  social  conscience. 
It  is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter  to  examine  the  structure  of 
the  moral  traditions  that  have  arisen  within  the  institutional 
setting  of  Christianity  of  the  Protestant  type.  This  will 

245 


246  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

enable  us  to  understand  the  limitations,  if  there  are  such, 
that  beset  the  ecclesiastical  conscience.  It  will  place  us  in 
the  position  also  to  suggest  what  must  be  done  to  remove  the 
hindrances  to  the  application  of  the  spiritual  dynamic  of 
the  church  to  the  problems  of  to-day. 

§  i.   THE  CHURCH  AND  SOCIETY 

The  immediate  moral  task  of  the  early  Christian  was  to 
keep  himself  "  unspotted  from  the  world  ".  The  ethical  prob- 
lem of  the  modern  Christian  is  to  find  richer  contacts  with 
the  world,  to  socialize  the  ecclesiastical  conscience.  For  the 
best  part  of  fifteen  centuries  the  church  was  the  keeper  of 
the  conscience  of  western  civilization;  she  strove  for  centuries 
to  implant  Christian  ideals  in  the  breasts  of  the  Teutonic 
invaders  from  the  North,  though,  as  it  would  appear,  with 
indifferent  success.  To-day  institutional  Christianity  is  con- 
cerned not  so  much  with  the  problem  of  elevating  men  to 
the  Christian  standard  as  with  the  task  of  recasting  its 
own  ethical  ideals. 

For  the  best  part  of  a  century,  from  the  days  of  Eichhorn 
to  Wellshausen  and  from  Reimarus  to  Wrede,  works  of  solid 
learning  together  with  flying  squadrons  of  more  ephemeral 
contributions  have  been  directed  against  historical  Christian- 
ity. The  battle  began  with  the  historicity  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, shifted  to  that  of  the  New  Testament,  and  then  cen- 
tered around  the  problem  of  the  supernatural  and  the  divinity 
of  Jesus.  Criticism  to-day  has  extended  to  the  moral  sphere. 
Men  are  asking  what  is  the  ethical  significance  of  institu- 
tionalized Christianity  for  modern  life.  It  is  with  the  last 
phase  of  the  problem  that  we  are  immediately  concerned. 
What  value  for  modern  society  have  the  ethical  traditions 
that  have  been  developed  within  the  bounds  of  institution- 
alized Christianity? 

We  shall  let  those  speak  first  who  are  of  the  "  household 
of  faith "  and  have  the  interests  of  the  church  deeply  at 
heart.  In  criticism  surely  if  anywhere  the  dictum  holds, 
"  Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend  ".  "  The  Christian 


THE  CHURCH  AND  SOCIETY  247 

Church ",  writes  Canon  Henson,  "  must  henceforth  reckon 
with  a  greater  moral  authority  than  its  own,  an  authority, 
indeed,  which  is  largely  its  own  creation,  the  authority  of 
the  general  conscience.  ...  To  some  minds,  I  know,  it  will 
be  disconcerting  and  repugnant  to  have  to  accept  as  a  post- 
ulate of  reasoning  the  supremacy  of  the  general  conscience, 
to  have  to  admit  the  inferiority  of  the  ecclesiastical  execu- 
tive when  the  moral  guidance  of  men  is  at  stake;  but  this 
admission  seems  to  me  the  very  lesson  of  the  history  of  Chris- 
tian civilization  ".* 

According  to  Dr.  Figgis,  institutionalized  religion  is  no 
longer  the  keeper  of  the  conscience  of  the  average  man.  He 
asks,  "  What  are  men's  ideals  to-day?  It  would  be  hard  to 
tell.  But  so  far  as  their  main  energies  are  concerned,  and  we 
can  form  any  judgment  as  to  what  animates  the  man  in  the 
street,  I  cannot  doubt  that  it  is  truer  to  say  that  Christianity 
runs  counter  to  our  civilization  than  that  it  fulfills  it  ".2  An 
English  clergyman  asserts,  "  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the 
churches  have  lost  their  hold  upon  two  classes  of  every  com- 
munity— the  cultured  classes  and  the  industrial  classes.  .  .  . 
The  leadership  of  science  and  art  and  literature  is  already 
almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of  men  who  have  broken  with 
organized  Christianity  ".3  This  is  corroborated  by  an  Oxford 
dean  who  writes,  "  Being  from  the  nature  of  my  profession  in 
contact  on  all  hands  with  young  men  of  many  types  belong- 
ing to  the  educated  classes,  I  say,  with  some  confidence,  that 
never,  I  believe,  was  the  hold  of  religion  upon  the  minds  of 
the  youth  of  this  country  stronger,  nor  the  hold  of  Christianity 
weaker  .  .  .  the  difficulty  which  young  men  have  to-day 
in  accepting  Christianity  is  not  intellectual  but  moral  ".4 

The  failure  of  the  churchly  ethic  to  connect  with  the  life 
of  the  worker  has  been  frequently  remarked  upon.  "  There 
is  a  tremendous  gulf  between  the  churches  and  the  masses 

1  H.  H.  Henson,  Moral  Discipline  in  the  Christian  Church,  p.  169  f. 

2  Civilisation  at  the  Cross  Roads,  p.  23. 

3  K.  C.  Anderson :  "  Why  Not  Face  the  Facts  ?  "     Hibbert  Journal, 
Vol.  4,  P-  846. 

4  Garrod,  The  Religion  of  All  Good  Men,  p.  8. 


248  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

of  the  people  in  the  densest  populations  of  Christendom  ", 
writes  Graham  Taylor.  "  The  deepest  breach  is  that  in  the 
ethical  relationship  of  industrial  life  "/  This  language  should 
have  special  weight  as  coming  from  one  who  has  spent  the 
best  part  of  a  lifetime  in  the  attempt  to  close  this  gap. 

The  church  is  still  spoken  of  as  the  moral  leaven,  the 
wheat  among  the  tares,  the  city  set  on  a  hill  to  light  the 
way  of  a  lost  world.  This  draws  an  unfortunate  and  un- 
tenable distinction  between  the  church  and  society.  For  the 
unprejudiced  investigator  will  insist  that  wickedness  and 
moral  corruption  do  not  recognize  any  such  boundary  as 
that  of  church  and  world.  Evil  characters  unfortunately 
are  found  within  the  church  as  well  as  without  it.  Fur- 
thermore, any  investigation  of  a  given  community  will  reveal 
that  men  of  the  highest  integrity  and  of  recognized  ability 
and  moral  power  are  to  be  found  in  large  numbers  without 
any  church  affiliations.  No  fair-minded  individual  would 
slander  his  fellows  or  stultify  his  own  moral  sense  by  calling 
these  persons  moral  bankrupts. 

This  ancient  ethical  dualism  of  world  and  church  is  based 
upon  a  misunderstanding  of  the  nature  and  construction  of 
society  itself.  There  is  a  very  profound  sense  in  which  we 
are  all  "  members  one  of  another  "  in  our  highly  mutualized 
modern  life.  Our  typical  sinners  are  our  own  creation,  the 
outgrowth  of  the  social  process  of  which  we  are  parts.  We 
cannot  condemn  them  without  condemning  ourselves.  To 
speak  of  the  entire  race  as  ruined  while  a  few  are  snatched 
as  brands  from  the  burning  is  to  speak  a  language  which 
to  the  social  psychologist  is  unintelligible.  Were  all  the 
race  essentially  depraved,  then  the  race  would  never  be  any 
wiser.  The  fact  that  we  can  understand  such  a  statement  at 
all  shows  that  it  is  false.  There  is  nothing  in  the  social 
consciousness  either  of  church  member  or  of  outsider  that 
supports  such  a  philosophy  of  human  nature.  The  ethical 
solidarity  of  the  entire  community  is  clearly  evinced  in  the 

1 "  The  Social  Function  of  the  Church,"  American  Journal  of  So- 
ciology, Vol.  5,  p.  320. 


THE  RISE  OF  A  SECULAR  ETHIC  249 

fact  that  even  the  preacher  must  depend  upon  the  moral  sense 
of  society  for  support.  •"  Let  those  who  cling  to  the  oligarchic 
notion  of  a  solvent  church  and  a  ruined  world  study  the  social 
activities  of  any  great  town;  let  them  take  counsel  with 
the  leaders  of  any  important  social  movement — say  the  Labor 
Party — and  they  will  discover  that  their  formula  is  unwork- 
able. They  will  see  that  the  church  as  a  power  external  to 
the  world  is  ceasing  to  exist,  while  a  new  church  within  the 
world,  bone  of  its  bone  and  flesh  of  its  flesh,  is  slowly  taking 
form.  Between  the  two  a  new  relationship  is  arising.  So 
close  is  the  union  that,  whether  for  bane  or  blessing,  they 
share  a  common  lot.  All  ethical  contrast  is  abolished;  both 
in  guilt  and  in  innocence  they  are  one.  If  the  world  is  bank- 
rupt, the  church  cannot  be  solvent  but  shares  with  the  world 
in  the  general  ruin,  both  as  to  the  guilt  of  its  cause  and  the 
unending  mischief  of  its  effects  'V 

§  2.   THE  RISE  OF  A  SECULAR  ETHIC 

A  secular  ethic,  or  a  body  of  ethical  norms  independent  of 
the  institutional  setting  of  the  church,  is  to-day  a  recognized 
fact.  This  secular  ethic  has  gradually  emancipated  itself 
from  the  dominance  of  the  churchly  ethic  in  the  sphere  of 
the  intellect,  of  politics,  and  of  business.  It  is  not  easy  to 
indicate  in  detail  how  measures  of  moral  values  have  arisen 
in  each  of  these  spheres  that  are  independent  of  the  churchly 
ethic  for  they  have  drawn  much  of  their  inspiration  from 
the  church.  Our  ethical  ideals  are  in  a  very  real  and  com- 
prehensive sense  the  product  of  a  civilization  or  of  an  inter- 
mixture of  civilizations.  Our  ethical  traditions  show  dis- 
tinct traces  of  Hebrew,  Greco-Roman,  Teutonic,  as  well  as 
Christian  elements.  Many  of  the  legal  and  political  canons 
of  our  modern  life  are  Greco-Roman  so  far  as  their  logical 
formulation  is  concerned;  they  owe  much  moral  inspiration  to 
the  religious  and  ethical  fervor  of  the  Reformation;  in  prac- 
tical spirit  and  content  they  are  still  essentially  Anglo-Saxon. 
The  business  ethic  of  to-day  is  tinged  with  Teutonic  brutality, 

1  Jacks :  "  Church  and  World,"  Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  5,  p.  9. 


250  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

though  the  impetus  to  its  formulation  and  for  a  time  its  sanc- 
tions came  from  the  religious  and  political  liberalism  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

The  texture  of  our  modern  life  as  a  whole  is  to  a  very 
large  extent  still  Teutonic  rather  than  Christian.  The  ideals 
of  Jesus  have  leavened  but  they  have  not  mastered  society. 
The  ethics  of  the  business  corporation  have  been  derived 
neither  from  the  Hebrew  Decalog  nor  from  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount.  Much  can  be  said  for  the  contention  that  the 
spirit  of  our  modern  secular  ethic  is  dominated  by  the 
notions  of  chivalry  and  of  honor  rather  than  by  meekness 
and  brotherly  kindness.  This  is  far  from  saying,  however, 
that  the  secular  ethic  has  not  been  influenced  by  Chris- 
tianity. The  ideals  of  chivalry  and  honor  were  blended 
with  purely  Christian  elements  in  the  days  of  feudalism. 
The  Christian  ethic  contributed  to  the  knightly  ideal  the  vir- 
tues of  humility  and  courtesy  to  which  institutionalized  Chris- 
tianity added  the  rather  doubtful  virtues  of  implicit  faith  and 
holy  zeal  in  destroying  the  enemies  of  the  church,  such  as  the 
heretic  and  the  infidel.  The  knight  who  became  a  heretic  was 
at  once  degraded  and  a  scullion  hacked  off  his  spurs  with  a 
cleaver. 

The  strictly  knightly  virtues  of  valor,  honor,  and  liberality 
still  lie  at  the  core  of  secular  ethics.  Courage  is  conspicuously 
manifest  in  the  service  of  country,  on  the  battlefield,  in  civic  re- 
form, in  industrial  enterprise,  or  in  the  pursuit  of  truth.  Honor 
appears  in  the  gentleman's  jealous  regard  for  his  good  name, 
in  the  business  man's  fidelity  in  observing  his  contracts,  and 
in  the  scientist's  scrupulous  intellectual  honesty  with  him- 
self and  with  his  fellow-searchers  for  the  truth.  Liberality 
is  illustrated  in  the  large-heartedness  of  modern  philanthropy 
and  in  the  spirit  of  noblesse  oblige  which  is  one  of  the  finest 
flowers  of  the  secular  ethic  in  modern  life.  To  be  sure,  these 
powerful  egoistic  virtues  need  to  be  enriched,  softened,  and 
spiritualized  by  the  gentler  Christian  ethic.  The  fact  that 
the  great  German  people  have  cultivated  in  their  national 
life  the  distinctly  Teutonic  virtues  without  the  saving  leaven 


THE  RISE  OF  A  SECULAR  ETHIC  251 

of  the  Christian  ethic  is  no  insignificant  factor  in  the  late 
world  tragedy.  It  will  hardly  be  denied,  however,  that  these 
virtues  so  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  early  Christianity  are  still 
among  the  most  powerful  driving  forces  of  our  modern  life. 
They,  rather  than  the  softer  Christian  virtues  of  forbearance, 
brotherly  love,  meekness,  and  humility,  dominate  the  political 
and  economic  order.  They  have  been  conspicuously  in  evi- 
dence in  the  recent  international  tragedy.  What  stirred  the 
moral  indignation  of  English-speaking  peoples  above  all  else 
and  finally  plunged  them  one  and  all  into  the  recent  world 
war  was  not  primarily  the  infractions  of  abstract  interna- 
tional rights,  nor  the  brutal  violation  of  the  Christian  senti- 
ments of  human  brotherhood  and  sympathy,  but  the  ruthless 
disregard  of  international  honor  and  the  cruel  and  unchival- 
rous  treatment  of  innocent  women  and  children  and  helpless 
non-combatants. 

The  rise  of  the  secular  ethic  is  due,  therefore,  to  the  cul- 
mination of  many  forces.  It  comes  in  part  from  the  stubborn 
persistence  of  the  militaristic  instincts  in  the  hearts  of  men; 
in  part  it  arises  from  the  increasing  prevalence  of  scientific 
method  in  modern  life;  in  part  it  has  been  hastened  by  the 
alienation  of  politics  and  industry  from  the  influence  of  reli- 
gion. Certainly  all  these,  and  other  elements  besides,  are 
present  in  the  general  recrudescence  of  the  humanistic  note 
first  clearly  enunciated  in  the  Protagorean  formula,  "  man 
the  measure  of  all  things ",  and  later  asserting  itself  in 
the  aesthetic  individualism  of  the  Renaissance.  The  rise  to 
power  of  the  modern  humanism  has  been  much  slower,  much 
more  thorough-going  and  comprehensive  than  in  either  of  the 
other  two  periods.  It  is  not  handicapped  by  the  disintegrating 
intellectualism  or  by  the  political  and  moral  inexperience 
of  the  ancient  Greeks.  It  possesses  a  deep  moral  earnestness, 
a  tested  scientific  method  and  the  self-confidence  born  of 
mature  political  and  economic  traditions  which  the  Renais- 
sance did  not  have.  The  bid  it  makes  for  the  control  of  the 
moral  ideals  of  men,  therefore,  is  much  stronger  than  ever 
before.  Through  centuries  of  close  contact  with  the  Christian 


252  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

ethic  it  has  absorbed  much  of  the  ethical  idealism  of  Chris- 
tianity, its  high  estimate  of  human  life,  its  spirit  of  sympathy 
and  brotherly  kindness.  In  taking  over  these  universal  moral 
values,  however,  the  twentieth  century  social  conscience  has 
stripped  them  of  their  outworn  theological  dress,  vitalized 
them  and  adapted  them  to  existing  social  conditions.  The 
church  is  in  danger  of  becoming  like  some  fair  temple  from 
which  impious  hands  have  removed  the  sacred  images  and 
stolen  the  altar  fires  that  inspired  the  worshipping  throngs  of 
former  days. 

§  3.   PROTESTANTISM  AND  COMPETITION 

It  will  hardly  be  contended  that  the  ethics  of  business 
enterprise  is  in  entire  accord  with  the  spirit  of  the  founder 
of  Christianity.  For  in  business  "  The  social  and  civil  rela- 
tions binding  the  individual  are  prevailingly  and  increasingly 
formed  for  pecuniary  ends,  and  enforced  by  pecuniary  sanc- 
tions. The  individualism  of  the  modern  era  sets  out  with 
industrial  aims  and  makes  its  way  by  force  of  industrial  effi- 
ciency. And  since  the  individual  relations  under  this  system 
take  the  pecuniary  form,  the  individualism  thus  worked  out 
and  embodied  in  the  modern  institutional  fabric  is  a  pecuniary 
individualism  and  is  therefore  typically  egoistic  ".  Has  this 
unlovely  and  selfish  pecuniary  individualism  of  the  existing 
business  system  anything  in  common  with  the  traditional 
churchly  ethic?  A  glance  at  the  evolution  of  the  ecclesiastical 
ethic  of  the  Protestant  type  will  enable  us  to  answer  this 
question. 

The  rise  of  economic  liberalism  of  the  individualistic  type 
in  Puritan  England  and  America  was  the  logical  development 
of  certain  implications  of  Protestantism.  Calvinism,  as  has 
been  pointed  out  in  an  earlier  chapter,  viewed  the  world 
as  a  moral  system  complete,  comprehensive  and  rational  to 
the  core.  The  spirit  and  intent  of  Calvinism  demanded  for 
its  attainment  conditions  and  instrumentalities  in  business 
and  in  politics  which  would  make  possible  the  fulfilment  of 
one's  "  calling ".  The  accepted  theological  doctrines  must 


PROTESTANTISM  AND  COMPETITION  253 

have  practical  means  of  realization.  The  fundamental  dif- 
ference between  the  Protestantism  of  Luther  and  that  of 
Calvin  lay  in  just  the  thoroughness  with  which  the  Calvinist 
carried  out  the  implications  of  the  idea  of  freedom.  It  was 
for  this  reason  that  the  beginnings  of  economic  individualism 
in  Puritan  England  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  intimately 
associated  with  the  individualism  of  the  Protestant  ethic  of 
the  Calvinistic  type.  Religious  individualism  inspired  eco- 
nomic individualism. 

The  most  vigorous  offspring  of  the  economic  individual- 
ism of  the  seventeenth  century  is  undoubtedly  the  principle 
of  competition;  it  has  been  called  the  life  of  the  modern 
industrial  order.  As  set  forth  in  the  lucid  pages  of  the  Wealth 
of  Nations,  it  fascinated  the  intellect  of  William  Pitt  and 
became  part  of  the  creed  of  English  industrial  life.  There  is 
no  principle  of  our  modern  business  life,  however,  that  is  so 
thoroughly  incompatible  with  the  Christian  doctrines  of  love 
and  altruistic  service  as  the  principle  of  unrestricted  competi- 
tion. Protestant  ethics  from  the  time  of  Baxter  to  the  pres- 
ent, therefore,  has  striven  in  vain  to  bring  the  two  principles 
together.  Perhaps  the  nearest  approach  to  the  golden  rule 
admitted  by  business  ethics  is  the  negative  principle  of  fair 
play.  Defoe,  the  valiant  literary  protagonist  of  the  Puritan 
ethic  of  trade,  seems  to  have  recognized  the  essential  incom- 
patibility of  the  tradesman's  life  with  the  altruism  of  the 
Christian  ethics.  "  If  no  man  must  go  beyond  or  defraud 
his  neighbor,  if  our  conversation  must  be  without  covetous- 
ness  and  the  like,  why,  then,  it  is  impossible  for  tradesmen 
to  be  Christians,  and  we  must  unhinge  all  our  business,  act 
upon  new  principles  in  trade,  and  go  on  by  new  rules;  in  short, 
we  must  shut  off  our  shop  and  leave  trade  "-1  Even  in  the 
pages  of  Baxter's  Christian  Directory  one  stumbles  upon  prac- 
tical directions  designed  to  safeguard  business  against  the 
demands  of  piety. 

The  dissenting  sects,  who  often  were  in  closer  touch  with 
the  spirit  of  primitive  Christianity  than  the  older  institu- 

1  The  Compleat  English  Tradesman,  London,  1726,  p.  285. 


254  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

tionalized  forms  of  Protestantism,  seemed  to  have  felt  that 
the  economic  individualism  of  the  prevailing  Puritan  ethic 
was  incompatible  with  the  true  spirit  of  the  founder  of 
Christianity.  It  is  to  be  detected  in  the  following  language 
of  Wesley.  "Religion  must  necessarily(l)  produce  both  in- 
dustry and  frugality,  and  these  cannot  but  produce  riches. 
But  as  riches  increase,  so  will  pride,  anger,  and  love  of  the 
world  in  all  its  branches.  How,  then,  is  it  possible  that  Metho- 
dism, that  is,  a  religion  of  the  heart,  though  it  flourishes  now 
like  a  green  baytree,  should  continue  in  this  state?  For  the 
Methodists  in  every  place  grow  diligent  and  frugal,  conse- 
quently they  increase  in  goods.  Hence  they  proportionately 
increase  in  pride,  in  anger,  in  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  the  desire 
of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life  ".  Here  we  have  evidence 
that  the  Puritan  ethic  of  economic  self-assertion  was  becoming 
an  integral  part  of  all  Protestant  Christianity.  It  was  found 
even  among  the  Quakers. 

We  have  here,  then,  an  interesting  illustration  of  the  extent 
to  which  earlier  religious  ideals  may  be  modified  by  later 
political  and  economic  conditions.  This  embodiment  within  the 
ecclesiastical  ethic  of  the  principles  of  unrestricted  competition 
and  profitism  is  hardly  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  ethics 
of  Jesus.  The  union,  to  be  sure,  has  never  been  complete  and 
harmonious.  For  the  selfish  economic  individualism  of  Protes- 
tant business  ethic  is  constantly  warring  with  the  altruistic 
idealism  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  This  appears  primarily 
in  the  familiar  double-standard  of  ethics  which  characterizes 
Protestantism  just  as  it  did  the  church  of  the  middle  ages. 
There  is,  however,  this  fundamental  difference  that  the  ethics 
of  the  middle  ages  was  based  upon  fixed  social  gradations  so 
that  the  moral  standards  of  the  butcher,  baker,  or  candle- 
stickmaker  were  not  the  same  as  the  "  counsels  of  perfection  " 
demanded  of  the  monk  who  had  elected  to  live  the  vita  con- 
templativa  of  the  spiritual  recluse.  In  the  spiritual  democracy 
of  the  saints  in  Protestantism,  however,  no  such  double- 
standard  is  legitimate.  Wherever  it  exists  we  have  evidence 
of  the  breakdown  of  the  ecclesiastical  ethic. 


THE  PROTESTANT  ETHIC  OF  WORK  255 

§  4.   THE  PROTESTANT  ETHIC  OF  WORK 

The  influence  upon  ecclesiastical  ethics  of  the  pecuniary 
individualism  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  is 
strikingly  in  evidence  in  the  church's  attitude  towards  the 
poor,  the  unemployed,  or  those  classes  and  individuals  who  are 
the  innocent  victims  of  modern  economic  maladjustments. 
The  triumph  of  Puritanism  meant  the  glorification  of  work. 
Work  was  viewed  as  the  fruitful  source  not  only  of  wealth 
and  honor  but  also  of  character  and  spiritual  worth.  Idleness 
and  poverty  in  the  case  of  any  able-bodied  individual  were 
considered  evidences  of  sinful  sloth.  For  only  the  sinful  de- 
generacy of  human  nature  prevents  the  physically  able  man 
from  obeying  the  law  of  God  and  nature  in  work.  The 
church  did  not  recognize,  therefore,  the  able-bodied  poor  who 
were  the  unfortunate  victims  of  circumstances.  The  charity  of 
the  dissenter  included  only  the  cripples,  the  widows  and 
orphans,  "  God  Almighty's  poor  ".  The  Protestant  ethic  felt 
responsibility  only  for  poverty  that  was  a  part  of  the  plan  of 
an  all-wise  God;  it  had  no  pity  for  those  who  had  become  poor 
through  man's  inhumanity  to  man.  On  the  other  hand,  to 
succor  the  able-bodied  poor  might  possibly  defeat  the  divine 
moral  regime  that  achieves  moral  discipline  through  the  pinch 
of  poverty. 

It  is  amazing,  the  extent  to  which  this  doctrine  permeated 
all  classes  of  Protestant  Christianity.  Hartlib,  Milton's  friend, 
writes,  "  The  law  of  God  saith:  '  He  that  will  not  work,  let  him 
not  eat.'  This  would  be  a  scourge  and  smart  whip  for  idle 
persons,  that  they  would  not  be  suffered  to  eat  until  they 
wrought  for  it."  Similar  ideas  are  reflected  in  the  writings  of 
the  liberal-minded  Franklin  towards  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  In  a  letter  to  Peter  Collinson,  May  9,  1753, 
occurs  this  statement,  "  To  relieve  the  misfortunes  of  our 
fellow-creatures  is  concurring  with  the  Deity;  it  is  godlike; 
but  if  we  provide  encouragement  for  laziness,  and  support  for 
folly,  may  we  not  be  found  fighting  against  the  order  of  God 
and  nature,  which  perhaps  has  appointed  want  and  misery 


256  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

as  the  proper  punishment  for,  and  caution  against,  as  well 
as  necessary  consequences  of,  idleness  and  extravagance? 
Whenever  we  attempt  to  amend  the  scheme  of  Provi- 
dence, and  to  interfere  with  the  government  of  the  world, 
we  had  need  be  circumspect,  lest  we  do  more  harm  than 
good." 

But  the  traditional  Protestant  ethic  was  not  satisfied  with 
simply  acknowledging  work  and  want  as  parts  of  the  disci- 
plinary and  punitive  scheme  of  Providence.  This  scheme 
must  be  supplemented  by  the  workhouse  or  "  house  of  correc- 
tion ".  This  institution  was  prompted  by  no  large  sense  of 
social  responsibility  towards  those  less  fortunate  in  the  eco- 
nomic struggle.  The  Protestant  ethic  did  not  recognize  the 
duty  of  securing  work  for  the  unemployed  and  for  reasons  that 
should  now  be  plain.  It  was  thought  that  God  had  provided 
in  his  infinite  wisdom  work  for  all  who  were  willing  to  work. 
The  command  given  Adam  and  his  descendants  to  earn  their 
bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows  did  not  contemplate  an  age 
of  monopolies  and  a  vast  industrial  order  with  its  labor 
problem.  The  establishment  of  the  workhouse,  therefore, 
was  thought  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  divine  plan  for  punish- 
ing the  lazy  and  arousing  in  the  unregenerate  heart  the 
impulse  to  work  that  had  been  weakened  by  sin.  Schooled 
as  has  been  the  churchly  ethic  for  generations  in  this  essen- 
tially anti-social  attitude  towards  poverty  and  unemployment, 
it  can  be  readily  understood  what  a  thoroughgoing  volte  face 
must  take  place  in  the  thinking  of  men  before  they  can  even 
understand  the  pressing  economic  problems  of  the  modern  in- 
dustrial order.  Here,  be  it  remembered,  we  are  to  seek  the 
explanation  of  the  strange  lethargy  that  the  ecclesiastical  con- 
science has  shown  towards  the  burning  issues  that  center 
around  capital  and  labor.  Men  do  not  throw  off  the  habits 
of  thought  and  feeling  that  have  come  down  through  genera- 
tions, especially  if  they  are  sanctioned  by  religion. 

Hardly  less  unfortunate  has  been  the  disciplinary  effect  of 
the  traditional  churchly  ethic  of  Protestantism  upon  the  think- 
ing of  men  in  regard  to  the  problem  of  wages.  The  Protes- 


THE  PROTESTANT  ETHIC  OF  WORK  257 

tant  ethic  has  thrown  its  influence  almost  invariably  in 
favor  of  a  low  wage  scale,  though  in  doing  so  Protestantism 
broke  with  many  of  the  traditions  of  the  past.  Even  the 
spendthrift  Charles  I  strove  through  legislation  to  assure  to 
the  workman  some  share  in  the  profits  of  the  monopolists.  The 
reign  of  Elizabeth  is  famous  for  its  acts  to  protect  the  laborer 
and  the  poor.  The  problem  of  the  justum  pretium  or  "  just 
wage  "  was  debated  at  length  by  Aquinas  and  the  doctors  of 
the  middle  ages.  With  the  triumph  of  the  pecuniary  indi- 
vidualism of  the  Puritan  middle-class  traders  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  all  this  passed  away.  The  prudential  virtues 
of  thrift  and  diligence  demanded  of  the  small  capitalist  and 
manufacturer  that  he  employ  his  men  at  the  lowest  wage  pos- 
sible. Furthermore,  economic  freedom  required  that  no  re- 
strictions be  placed  upon  the  labor  market.  Finally,  there  was 
the  religious  sanction  for  the  low  wage  on  the  ground  that  it 
heightened  the  disciplinary  effect  of  labor  as  the  divinely 
ordained  instrument  for  the  development  of  character.  This 
theory  of  wages  is  reflected  in  writers  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  though  we  no  longer  detect  its  religious 
background.  As  late  as  1770  we  find  this  language  in  a  work 
on  wages,  "  The  only  way  to  make  the  poor  temperate  and 
industrious,  is  to  lay  them  under  a  necessity  of  laboring  all  the 
time  they  can  spare  from  meals  and  sleep,  in  order  to  procure 
the  common  necessaries  of  life  ". 

It  was  by  no  means  fortunate,  therefore,  that  the  begin- 
nings of  the  Protestant  ethic  of  wealth  were  characterized  by 
"  the  rejection  of  all  charitable  instincts  in  dealing  with  labor 
and  unemployment.  .  .  .  The  great  liberation  effected  by 
Cromwell  has  loosed  the  bonds  of  ecclesiastical  thraldom  and 
abolished  every  kind  of  restriction  upon  individual  liberty. 
But  the  Cromwellians  had  no  understanding  for  the  social  sub- 
jection of  certain  large  classes,  and  no  kind  of  sympathy  for 
new  ideas  of  the  distribution  or  nationalization  of  wealth."  x 
The  traditions  of  two  centuries  ago  still  condition  the  thinking 
of  the  average  church-member  on  all  the  great  problems  having 

1  Levy,  Economic  Liberalism,  p.  83. 


258  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

to  do  with  wages  and  the  distribution  of  wealth.  Institu- 
tionalized Christianity  of  the  Protestant  type  has  not  changed 
its  attitude.  Critics  should  remember  this  who  are  constantly 
pointing  out  the  supineness  of  the  churchly  ethic  in  the  face 
of  vast  economic  problems  or  the  inconsistency  of  giving  lip 
homage  to  the  ethics  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  and  yet 
doing  business  on  the  basis  of  competitive  pecuniary  individ- 
ualism. Those  who  condemn  the  ecclesiastical  ethic  as  funda- 
mentally disloyal  to  the  lofty  altruism  of  Jesus  will  be  less 
harsh  if  they  remember  the  historical  background  of  present 
ideas.  One  has  but  to  read  the  sermons  of  the  saintly  Richard 
Baxter  and  his  contemporaries  to  discover  that  the  tradi- 
tional Protestant  ethic  of  work  and  wealth  has  far  more 
in  common  with  Adam  Smith  than  with  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount. 

The  charge  is  often  made  that  institutionalized  Christianity 
has  obscured,  not  to  say  perverted,  the  eternal  human  note  in 
the  ethic  of  Jesus.  It  will  be  seen  that  this  charge  is  not 
without  a  measure  of  truth.  The  churchly  ethic  of  wealth  has 
developed  in  the  closest  intimacy  with  the  existing  capitalistic 
order.  They  are,  in  fact,  but  different  phases  of  one  and  the 
same  great  social  process.  This  should  enable  the  critic  to 
sympathize  somewhat  perhaps  with  the  singular  helplessness 
of  the  ecclesiastical  conscience  during  the  recent  bitter  struggle 
to  free  American  democracy  from  the  rampant  individualism 
of  our  modern  plutocracy.  This  helplessness  was  born  of  an 
inability  to  break  with  the  past.  The  church,  like  all  great 
institutions,  clings  most  tenaciously  to  its  traditions.  Hence 
the  indisputable  fact  that  in  an  age  calling  for  moral  heroism, 
for  men  who  like  Amos  in  the  brave  days  of  old  can  cry, 
"  Let  judgment  roll  down  as  waters  and  righteousness  as  a 
mighty  stream,"  the  church  was  on  the  whole  apathetic.  It 
was  not  the  ecclesiastical  conscience  which  aroused  the  coun- 
try to  the  iniquity  of  the  wasteful  individualism  when  vast 
fortunes  were  amassed  through  the  ruthless  exploitation  of 
the  resources  of  a  continent.  The  financiers,  the  trust- 
builders  themselves,  not  the  churchmen,  first  made  headway 


ANTI-INTELLECTUALISM  OF  CHRISTIAN  ETHIC      259 

against  the  greed  of  this  senseless  pioneer  ethic  and  laid  the 
basis  for  a  reorganization  of  business.  It  was  not  the  ecclesi- 
astical conscience  which  aroused  in  men  the  dream  of  an  indus- 
trial democracy  in  which  wealth  is  held  as  a  sacred  trust  and 
where  society  is  dealt  with  as  a  living  organism  and  not  "  a 
more  or  less  adventitious  assemblage  of  individuals  ".  There 
is  something  almost  pathetic  in  the  utter  moral  bewilderment 
of  the  average  bourgeois  church-member  when  faced  with  the 
problems  of  the  new  era  upon  which  we  are  just  entering.  His 
gospel  of  personal  salvation  and  personal  responsibility  to 
God,  his  admiration  of  the  prudential  virtue  of  thrift,  his 
nai've  worship  of  money-power,  his  belief  in  the  sacrosanct 
character  of  private  property,  his  insistence  upon  unrestricted 
competition — these  are  tragically  out  of  place  in  a  highly 
mutualized  and  interdependent  social  order  which  has  been 
forced  to  discard  the  outworn  philosophy  of  another  age. 
These  remarks  have  in  mind  only  the  traditional  institutional 
point  of  view.  It  is  of  course  true  that  in  every  age  the  church 
has  had  leaders  who  have  stood  for  a  more  social  point  of  view 
and  to-day  their  number  is  increasing  rapidly. 

§  5.  THE  ANTI-INTELLECTUALISM  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  ETHIC 

Few  factors  have  proven  such  a  grievous  hindrance  to  the 
beneficent  march  of  science  as  the  mistaken  intellectual  loyal- 
ties of  the  churchly  ethic.  It  has  been  asserted  that  the  mis- 
guided zeal  of  ecclesiastics  who  thwarted  the  scientific  begin- 
nings of  Roger  Bacon  and  his  successors  and  turned  the  most 
brilliant  intellects  of  the  middle  ages  into  the  barren  and  tor- 
tuous realms  of  scholastic  theology  set  back  the  world  a  cen- 
tury or  more  in  its  efforts  to  master  the  great  problems  of 
disease,  scientific  method,  and  social  efficiency.  The  thousands 
of  innocent  lives  yearly  sacrificed  to  such  diseases  as  con- 
sumption, cancer,  scarlet  fever  or  pneumonia  is  the  price  mod- 
erns are  paying  for  the  orthodoxy  of  their  forbears. 

The  severest  critics  of  the  ecclesiastical  ethic  in  matters  of 
the  intellect  are  to  be  found  among  churchmen  themselves. 
Concerning  the  two  great  gifts  of  the  Reformation  to  modern 


260  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

life,  namely,  right  of  free  inquiry  and  liberty  of  conscience, 
the  learned  Canon  of  Westminster  asserts,  "  Of  both  these 
excellent  and  precious  possessions,  the  Jachin  and  Boaz  of  the 
temple  of  healthly  national  life,  it  is  but  the  unvarnished  truth 
to  say  that  the  ecclesiastical  executive  has  been  the  persistent, 
and  often  the  unscrupulous,  antagonist.  The  post- Reformation 
church  has  been  preoccupied  with  the  exigencies  of  ecclesi- 
astical politics,  and  the  end  of  discipline  has  seemed  to  be 
rather  the  preservation  of  ecclesiastical  allegiance  than  the 
maintenance  of  a  high  morality."  1  Father  Tyrrell,  the  brilliant 
protagonist  of  modernism,  uses  the  following  language  in  his 
reply  to  the  lenten  pastoral  of  Cardinal  Mercier:  "  Can  we  say 
that  what  your  Eminence  would  call '  teachings  of  the  church  ' 
enforced  under  all  sorts  of  pains  and  penalties,  temporal  and 
eternal,  has  notably  hastened  and  facilitated  the  discovery  of 
truth  as  to  the  nature  and  history  of  the  world  and  of  man? 
Is  it  not  just  in  the  name  of  revelation  that  the  whole  authority 
of  the  church  over  conscience  has  been  brought  to  bear  against 
one  science  after  another,  so  as,  if  possible,  to  strangle  them  in 
their  birth?  If  the  church  had  had  her  way,  if  reason  had  not 
refused  to  listen  to  her  outside  the  narrow  limits  of  her  teach- 
ing commission,  our  scientific  conceptions  of  to-day  would  be 
those  of  the  Bible.  We  should  still  be  burning  old  women  on 
the  charge  of  evil  eye  or  of  intercourse  with  the  devil;  we 
should  be  treating  epilepsy,  hysteria,  and  insanity  as  diabolical 
possession;  we  should  be  urging  prayer  and  exorcism  instead  of 
medicine,  surgery,  and  hygiene;  we  should  be  ringing  conse- 
crated bells  against  storm  demons  and  earth-shakers;  the 
chemist  would  be  a  magician;  the  money-lender  an  excom- 
municate." 2 

We  gain  a  much  more  sympathetic  understanding  of  this 
age-long  struggle  between  the  secular  and  the  ecclesiastical 
ethic  on  questions  involving  intellectual  loyalties,  a  struggle 
that  has  sadly  warped  the  minds  of  men,  when  we  remind 
ourselves  that  the  master  motive  of  the  church  has  never  been 


1  Op.  cit.,  p.  143. 

2  Mediaevalism,  p.  124  f. 


ANTI-INTELLECTUALISM  OF  CHRISTIAN  ETHIC     261 

knowledge  but  salvation.  Institutional  Christianity  has  always 
been  more  or  less  anti-intellectualistic.  Paul,  the  great  organiz- 
ing genius  who  first  faced  the  pagan  world  as  a  propagandist 
for  the  new  faith,  gives  as  his  reason  for  daring  to  carry  the 
gospel  to  Rome,  the  cultural  seat  of  the  empire,  that  this  gospel 
is  "  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation  to  everyone  that  believ- 
eth  ".  The  representative  of  the  churchly  ethic  of  to-day,  when 
faced  by  the  challenge  of  science  and  philosophy,  cries  out  just 
as  exultingly  as  did  Paul,  "  For  the  Jews  require  a  sign  and  the 
Greeks  seek  after  wisdom:  but  we  preach  Christ  crucified  unto 
the  Jews  a  stumbling-block  and  unto  the  Greeks  foolishness  ". 
The  demand  of  men  was  for  soul  peace.  Seneca,  one  of  the 
noblest  spirits  of  the  time,  expressed  the  temper  of  his  age 
when  he  said  omnis  vita  supplicium  est.  Escape  was  offered 
the  tortured  spirit  by  a  mystical  appropriation  of  divine  power 
through  faith. 

Faith,  or  an  emotional  attitude,  was  thereby  given  prece- 
dence over  the  critical  and  rationalizing  function  of  the  intel- 
lect. Indeed  it  was  the  master-motive  of  salvation  through 
faith  that  in  time  aroused  the  scientific  interests  and  provided 
the  problems  for  the  intellect  of  the  church,  as  is  shown  in  the 
case  of  Augustine.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  there  was  little 
place  among  the  interests  of  the  church  fathers  for  knowledge 
for  its  own  sake;  the  desire  for  knowledge  was  always  subordi- 
nated to  the  desire  for  salvation.  In  so  far  as  the  intellect 
threw  light  upon  the  what  and  how  of  salvation  it  was  wel- 
comed. But  the  all-absorbing  need  of  health  of  soul  forced 
into  a  secondary  place  every  line  of  effort  or  inquiry  that  did 
not  directly  contribute  to  this  religious  end.  The  role  of  the 
intellect  was  at  first  to  provide  material  for  religious  instruc- 
tion, the  dogmatic  support  for  the  message  of  salvation  or 
apologetic  defense  of  the  new  faith.  As  other  fields  of  intel- 
lectual endeavor  such  as  education,  science,  and  philosophy 
began  to  develop  they  were  mastered  and  made  to  play  the  role 
of  ancillae  theologiae.  Theology  was  the  queen  of  the  sciences 
because  she  dealt  with  the  supreme  problem,  the  eternal  wel- 
fare of  the  soul. 


262  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

The  trend,  therefore,  of  the  ecclesiastical  ethic  was  and  still 
continues  to  be  essentially  anti-intellectualistic.  It  emphasizes 
the  subjective  and  emotional  phase  of  experience  which  appears 
in  faith  and  in  the  mystical  element  in  religious  experience.  It 
starts,  not  with  the  objective  and  concrete  world  of  things  and 
human  institutions  with  which  science  deals  but  with  the  inner 
world  of  emotions  and  sentiments;  "The  kingdom  of  God  is 
within  you  ".  The  role  of  the  intellect  is  secondary,  namely, 
to  interpret  as  best  it  can  this  subjective  and  more  or  less 
intangible  world  of  inner  experience.  Conduct  has  significance 
only  as  it  manifests  this  inner  state;  Christianity  is  only 
secondarily  and  by  implication  ethical.  Its  essence  lies  in  the 
"  mystery  of  godliness  ",  "  the  mystery  that  hath  been  hid  from 
all  ages  and  generations,"  namely,  "  Christ  in  you  the  hope  of 
glory  ".  The  middle  ages  were  true  to  this,  the  deepest  note 
of  Christianity,  when  it  set  the  vita  contemplative,  with  its 
consummation  in  the  unio  mystica  of  the  soul  with  God,  as 
the  goal  of  existence.  Any  attempt  to  utilize  the  Christian 
ideal  in  the  interest  of  a  strictly  social  and  secular  purpose  can 
succeed  only  by  ignoring  this  fundamental  characteristic.  It 
goes  without  saying,  therefore,  that  the  coldly  critical  and  im- 
personal search  for  truth  for  its  own  sake,  peculiar  to  science 
and  philosophy,  must  play  a  secondary  part  in  the  attainment 
of  the  Christian  ideal. 

§  6.   DOGMA  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  FAITH 

It  was  inevitable,  under  these  conditions,  that  dogma 
should  become  the  guardian  of  faith.  For  an  ideal  that  rests 
upon  inner  experience  must  in  time  fall  back  upon  dogma 
or  be  rendered  futile  and  impotent  through  the  vacillations  of 
the  emotional  life  itself.  Hence  the  church  emerged  from  the 
dangerous  contest  with  the  Gnostics  thoroughly  committed  to  a 
dogmatic  and  authoritarian  conception  of  truth  and  that  in  the 
interest  of  self-preservation.  The  canon,  the  creed,  the  priest- 
hood and  sacraments  were  absolutely  necessary  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  anything  like  uniformity  and  agreement  in  sub- 
jective experiences  and  in  religious  traditions.  Institutional 


DOGMA  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  FAITH  263 

Christianity  has  for  the  same  reason  favored  from  that  day  to 
the  present  an  authoritarian  ethic.  It  has  insisted  upon  the 
final  authority  of  a  body  of  dogma,  a  closed  canon  of  sacred 
writings,  and  certain  sacraments  and  ordinances  as  the  pre- 
requisites to  the  perpetuation  of  certain  inner  attitudes  towards 
God  and  the  corresponding  type  of  conduct.  It  is  difficult  to 
see  how  the  church  could  do  otherwise  without  losing  its  iden- 
tity and  becoming  something  quite  different  from  the  past. 
The  inability  of  institutionalized  Christianity  to  accept  whole- 
heartedly the  principle  of  evolution  is,  in  the  light  of  these 
facts,  perfectly  intelligible.  To  acknowledge  that  truth  is 
constantly  changing  and  may  become  something  quite  different 
to  later  generations  is  to  accept  a  measure  of  intellectual  and 
moral  values  for  which  there  is  no  place  in  an  authoritarian 
ethic. 

This  anti-intellectualism  enables  us  to  understand  why 
the  unscientific,  not  to  say  irrational,  element  present  even 
in  the  teaching  of  Paul,  still  lingers  to  tinge  the  atmosphere 
of  the  ecclesiastical  ethic.  "  But  the  real  chief  duty  of 
man,"  writes  Canon  Banks,  "  is  Tightness  not  of  opinion, 
but  of  conduct,  of  spirit,  of  life;  and  the  chief  pre-occupa- 
tion  of  the  ordination  candidate  is  not  speculative  at  all  but 
devotional,  spiritual,  practical;  not  the  teaching  of  men's 
minds  so  much  as  the  saving  of  their  souls  or  characters,  and 
the  attainment  of  that  social  ideal  which  Chiist  called  the 
Kingdom  of  God  'V  The  question  is  not  raised  as  to  how  we 
can  have  right  conduct  without  Tightness  of  opinion  for  it  is 
taken  for  granted  that  Tightness  of  opinion  is  assured  once  for 
all  through  an  infallible  body  of  truth.  Attention  can  be  de- 
voted entirely,  therefore,  to  the  immediate  and  practical  mat- 
ters of  conduct,  devotion,  and  service.  The  ecclesiastical 
conscience  has  ever  been  so  impressed  with  the  duty  of  saving 
the  world  that  it  has  never  taken  the  time  to  ask  whether 
after  all  it  understands  the  world. 

This  emphasis  of  the  practical,  the  immediate,  and  the 
feasible  in  religion  made  possible  by  reliance  upon  dogma, 

1 "  The  Clergy  and  Free  Inquiry,"  Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  9,  p.  368. 


264  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

is  especially  grateful  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  temperament.  It 
gives  a  comfortable  feeling  of  concreteness ;  it  enables  one 
to  bring  his  religion  down  to  the  level  of  a  business  transac- 
tion. With  this  practicality,  indeed,  often  goes  a  fine  scorn 
for  the  speculative  thinker  as  the  willing  dupe  of  his  own 
idle  fancies — a  scorn  which  is  sometimes  but  a  Diogenes' 
cloak  for  an  intellectual  self-confidence  as  imperturbable 
as  it  is  uncritical.  To  be  sure,  anti-intellectualism  is  to-day 
the  fashion  both  in  religion  and  in  philosophy.  But  any 
anti-intellectualism  gives  us  pause  when  it  is  pushed  to  the 
extent  that  one  glories  in  it  as  a  religious  asset.  "  One  of  our 
premiers  once  said,"  writes  Principal  Forsyth,  "  that  the 
sterling  British  mind  neither  liked  nor  understood  cleverness. 
How  true  it  is.  How  fortunate  that  it  is  true.  .  .  .  The 
world  is  neither  to  be  understood  nor  managed  by  sheer  talent, 
logic,  or  knowledge.  The  greatest  movements  in  the  world 
have  been  irrational,  or  at  least  non-logical.  And  the  irration- 
ality of  the  world,  the  faith  of  a  principle  which  flows  under- 
neath reason  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  a  power  which  rises  be- 
yond it  on  the  other,  and  even  seems  to  reverse  it,  has  done 
more  to  keep  religion  quick  and  deep  than  any  sense  of  the 
world's  intelligent  nature  or  consistent  course.  Faith,  which 
is  the  greatest  power  of  history,  flourishes,  and  even  exults,  in 
the  offense  of  the  cross,  and  the  paradox  of  the  spirit."  *  This 
glorification  of  obscurantism  will  hardly  appeal  to  a  scientifi- 
cally-trained generation.  Even  in  religious  matters  we  are 
no  longer  content  to  "  muddle  through "  by  sheer  dint 
of  blind  faith  and  let  the  intellect  tidy  up  the  corners  after- 
ward. 

It  is  through  the  spread  of  science  that  men  have  become 
convinced  that  truth  on  any  subject  can  only  be  attained 
through  long  and  arduous  research.  The  difficulty  of  the 
attainment  of  truth  and  the  sense  of  the  relativity  of  our 
knowledge  on  the  fundamental  problems  of  existence  has 
played  no  small  part  in  educating  the  scientific  mind  into 
a  high  and  holy  regard  for  the  truth.  But  let  an  indi- 

1 "  Intellectualism  and  Faith,"  Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  n,  p.  311. 


DOGMA  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  FAITH  265 

vidual  or  a  group  of  individuals  become  possessed  by  the 
conviction  that  ultimate  truth  on  a  problem  as  vital  and 
as  difficult  as  religion  is  to  be  gained  through  a  simple  emo- 
tional attitude  and  to  a  large  extent  in  spite  of  the  reason, 
and  the  result  is  a  superficial  and  false  conception  as  to 
the  nature  of  truth.  A  mental  atmosphere  is  created  in  which 
the  cultivation  of  strict  intellectual  integrity  is  difficult.  Hence 
the  undeniable  fact  that  a  high  and  holy  regard  for  truth 
is  rare  among  theologians  of  the  old  school;  it  is  a  product 
of  science.  Laxity  of  thought  is  nowhere  more  in  evidence 
than  in  religious  matters.  Any  sort  of  apologetics  or  pseudo- 
science  is  thought  justifiable  provided  it  tends  to  support  a 
religious  belief.  It  may  be  seriously  doubted  whether  there  is 
anywhere  in  our  modern  life  such  widespread  and  unchal- 
lenged disregard  of  scientific  thinking  as  in  the  setting  forth 
of  religious  truth  in  the  average  pulpit. 

When  we  bear  in  mind  the  suggestive  power  of  an  institu- 
tion that  employs  by  all  the  many-sided  appeal  of  ritual,  creed, 
sacred  symbols,  music,  the  spoken  word,  the  crowd  psychosis, 
and  is  sanctioned  by  the  highest  and  holiest  loyalties,  we  gain 
some  idea  of  the  vast  power  exercised  by  the  church  in  shap- 
ing the  intellectual  standards  of  the  average  mui.  The  follow- 
ing statement  of  Lecky's,  made  with  reference  to  the  middle 
ages,  has  its  significance  also  for  the  present:  "When,  for 
example,  theologians  during  a  long  period  have  inculcated 
habits  of  credulity,  rather  than  habits  of  inquiry;  when  they 
have  persuaded  men  that  it  is  better  to  cherish  prejudice  than 
to  analyze  it;  better  to  stifle  every  doubt  of  what  they  have 
been  taught  than  honestly  to  investigate  its  value,  they  will  at 
last  succeed  in  forming  habits  of  mind  that  will  instinctively 
and  habitually  recoil  from  all  impartiality  and  intellectual  hon- 
esty. If  men  continually  violate  a  duty  they  may  at  last  cease 
to  feel  its  obligations  ".1  Towards  the  close  of  the  middle  ages 
human  nature  took  fearful  revenge  for  the  shackling  of  the 
intellect  through  the  ecclesiastical  ethic.  For  during  the 
twelfth  century  when  an  intellectual  awakening  began  to  stir  in 

1  History  of  European  Morals,  Vol.  I,  p.  98. 


266  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

Europe,  the  masses  of  men  who  had  not  been  taught  the  mean- 
ing of  honest  doubt,  mistook  these  strange  uneasy  whisperings 
for  the  voice  of  the  devil  and,  turning  upon  each  other  in  a 
terror-stricken  attempt  to  stifle  the  spirit  of  unrest,  burned 
innocent  fellow-men  as  witches  at  the  stake  or  tore  them  on 
the  wheel.  The  witch-burning  manias  and  heresy  trials  of  the 
late  middle  ages  were  in  part  only  a  crude  attempt  to  still  the 
mental  anguish  of  suspended  judgment.  Thus  did  human 
nature  avenge  itself  against  a  purblind  churchly  ethic  which 
in  cursing  doubt  cursed  the  powers  of  reason  and  the  legitimate 
result  of  its  exercise.  The  code  of  ethics  or  the  institution  that 
stigmatizes  honest  doubt  or  reasoned  disbelief  chokes  the  spiri- 
tual life  of  man  at  its  fountain-head  and  prepares  for  itself  an 
inevitable  day  of  reckoning. 


§  7.   AUTHORITARIANISM  AND  MORALS 

Given  a  system  of  ethics  in  which  there  is  no  place  for 
development  in  the  true  sense,  where  moral  science  consists 
simply  in  elucidating  and  applying  to  new  situations  as  they 
arise  great  ethical  principles  laid  down  authoritatively  once  for 
all,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  we  have  a  situation  in  which 
casuistry  is  encouraged.  Familiar  illustrations  of  what  is 
meant  are  afforded  by  the  effort  of  the  average  Sabbath-school 
teacher  to  reconcile  the  teachings  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
with  prevailing  ethical  ideals  in  business  and  politics.  With- 
out any  attempt  at  a  scholarly  understanding  of  the  back- 
ground of  these  utterances  of  Jesus,  but  with  a  nai've  assump- 
tion that  they  must  be  true  for  all  time  and  for  every  conceiv- 
able social  order,  the  expositor  proceeds  to  extract  from  them 
meanings  which  will  fit  modern  conditions.  In  this  wise  these 
beautiful  sayings  are  placed  at  the  mercy  of  all  the  sophistical 
pros  and  cons,  the  forced  and  mechanical  adjustments  which 
logical  ingenuity  can  devise.  They  become  mere  verbal  sup- 
ports upon  which  one  may  hang  at  will  his  arbitrary  inter- 
pretations of  what  the  unalterable  principles  of  Christian  ethic 
must  be.  Ethics  becomes,  thereby,  merely  an  appanage  of 


AUTHORITARIANISM  AND  MORALS  267 

theological  or  personal  pre-possessions  and  has  no  just  claims 
to  independence  or  even  respectability. 

It  is  in  this  casuistical  atmosphere  that  there  arises  what 
Nietzsche  calls  the  "  holy  lie  ".  In  general,  Nietzsche  meant 
by  the  term  any  perversion  of  the  truth  that  "  is  allowed 
in  pursuit  of  holy  ends  ".  Psychologically,  the  "  holy  lie  " 
is  more  than  that.  It  is  a  form  of  self-deception  that  results 
from  the  organization  of  religious  or  other  loyalties  around 
ideas  which  are  false  or  have  become  discredited.  It  is  a 
familiar  fact  that  every  strongly  organized  system  of  senti- 
ments tends  to  create  its  own  standards  of  value.  It  seeks 
always  to  vouch  for  the  truth  of  its  ideas.  From  the  stand- 
point of  the  miser's  master  passion  of  avarice  whatever  grati- 
fies it  is  true  and  good,  whatever  thwarts  it  is  untrue  and 
vicious.  It  is  also  a  familiar  fact  of  psychology  that  every 
system  of  sentiments  strives  to  become  supreme  and  to  subordi- 
nate all  the  other  elements  of  personality  to  the  end  it  seeks  to 
realize.  Hence,  it  is  not  uncommon  where  powerful  senti- 
ments become  thoroughly  organized  around  certain  sets  of 
ideas,  as  in  religion,  that  this  system  of  sentiments  may  domi- 
nate the  entire  personality  and  shape  notions  of  truth  as  well 
as  ideals  of  conduct. 

The  effect  of  an  authoritarian  ethic  is  to  organize  the  emo- 
tions and  sentiments  around  certain  sacred  objects  such  as  a 
relic,  the  cross,  the  Bible,  or  the  church.  These  objects  take 
on  in  this  wise  unique  authority  and  significance.  The  word 
of  God  and  its  official  interpreter  are  taken  up  into  the  power- 
ful system  of  religious  sentiment  of  the  individual  believer  and 
acquire  thereby  values  which  they  do  not  possess  when  con- 
sidered on  their  own  merits.  The  emotions  fed  by  the  religious 
and  moral  teachings  of  the  Bible  overflow,  as  it  were,  and  lend 
to  the  book  a  fictitious  value  from  the  standpoint  of  history  or 
science.  The  powerful  but  uncritical  emotional  life  leads  cap- 
tive reason  and  the  critical  powers.  Intelligent  persons  con- 
stantly contend  for  the  historical  trustworthiness  of  the  first 
chapters  of  Genesis  but  not  because  they  provide  satisfactory 
scientific  explanations  of  the  origin  of  the  world  or  the  begin- 


268  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

nings  of  the  race.  The  system  of  sentiment  organized  about 
the  sacred  book  demands  that  nothing  shall  detract  from  its 
holiness  and  its  power  to  satisfy  religious  needs.  To  admit 
that  any  part  of  it  is  a  myth  is  felt  to  militate  against  this 
sentiment  and  is  therefore  rejected.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  the  one  factor  which  resisted  and  still  resists  most  stub- 
bornly all  efforts  to  apply  scientific  method  to  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  sacred  scriptures  is  this  organization  of  the  religious 
sentiments  and  the  false  conceptions  of  truth  to  which  it  gives 
rise. 

In  a  similar  fashion,  the  clergy  have  suffered  from  false 
estimates  of  their  character  and  their  social  significance. 
Throughout  the  middle  ages  the  priest  was  forced  to  live  the 
unreal,  anti-social  life  of  the  celibate.  In  Protestantism  the 
clergyman  is  always  in  danger  of  becoming  more  or  less  of  a 
moral  poseur.  A  false  estimate  is  placed  on  his  abilities  so 
that  his  poorest  jokes  and  most  platitudinous  discourses  are 
praised  as  creations  of  genius;  accustomed  to  being  listened  to 
as  an  oracle,  too  often  he  becomes  impatient  of  criticism  and 
does  not  fight  fair  in  an  argument;  as  the  expounder  of  a  final 
body  of  authoritative  truth  he  feels  no  incentive  to  patient 
criticism  or  to  originality  of  thought;  he  is  made  the  recipient 
of  privileges  and  immunities  both  legal  and  social  which  often 
endanger  his  own  sense  of  manliness  and  self-respect  and  do 
not  elevate  him  in  the  esteem  of  the  secular  ethic;  by  no  fault 
of  his  own  his  character  is  often  pauperized,  his  thought  and 
vocabulary  stereotyped,  his  moral  judgments  dulled  by  privi- 
lege and  convention.  These  are  the  results  of  the  artificial 
atmosphere  of  an  authoritarian  ethic. 

Finally,  an  authoritarian  ethic  militates  against  a  vigorous 
morality  in  that  it  encourages  the  separation  of  religious  devo- 
tion from  civic  righteousness.  Observers  have  noted  a  certain 
moral  obtuseness  among  Latin  peoples  long  subjected  to  the 
casuistical  atmosphere  of  an  authoritarian  ethics  and  the  con- 
fessional. But  this  "  non-moral  type  of  Christianity  "  is  not 
confined  to  Latin  peoples.  It  is  found  in  communities  where 
Protestantism  of  the  most  pronounced  type  has  long  enjoyed 


POSITIVE  CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  THE  CHURCH       269 

complete  sway.  It  is  encouraged  even  by  the  pulpit  and  in  the 
service.  Many  luxurious  church  edifices  give  the  impression 
that  their  chief  function  is  to  provide  for  their  membership  all 
the  instrumentalities  for  the  cultivation  of  subjective  emotional 
states,  deeply  devotional  and  pious  frames  of  mind  which  bring 
to  the  individual  keen  enjoyment  and  inner  peace,  but  have 
little  or  no  bearing  upon  conduct.  At  most,  they  encourage 
religiosity,  a  "  non-moral  Christianity  ",  which  may  and  often 
does  flourish  in  the  midst  of  a  community  cursed  with  political 
graft  and  economic  injustice.  This  self-centered  and  socially 
impotent  ecclesiastical  ethic  has  done  more  perhaps  than  any 
one  other  factor  to  discredit  the  moral  leadership  of  the  church. 
It  illustrates  the  truth  of  Nietzsche's  dictum  that  religion  is 
constantly  being  shipwrecked  upon  morals, 

§  8.   THE  POSITIVE  CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  THE  CHURCH 
TO  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

Our  discussion  of  the  church  thus  far  has  been  nega- 
tive and  critical.  Those  features  in  the  structure  and  the 
function  of  the  ecclesiastical  ethic  have  been  stressed  that  have 
been  a  hindrance  rather  than  a  help  in  the  solution  of  modern 
problems.  The  church  is  not  free  from  the  limitations  that 
inevitably  beset  a  great  and  authoritative  institution  that 
enjoys  a  vast  power  over  the  hearts  of  men.  To  institutionalize 
is  to  delimit.  Every  institution  is  more  or  less  self-centered. 
There  is,  however,  another  side  to  the  picture.  For  it  would 
be  exceedingly  unfair  not  to  note  the  very  real  and  permanent 
contribution  of  institutionalized  Christianity  to  the  social  con- 
science of  to-day.  We  can  approach  the  proper  estimate  of 
the  church's  positive  contribution  by  reminding  ourselves  of  the 
forces  that  have  operated  to  bring  about  the  present  status  of 
the  church  in  society. 

In  the  first  place,  social  forces  are  assigning  to  the  church 
in  modern  life  a  role  that  is  essentially  departmental.  Contrast 
the  position  of  the  church  to-day  in  a  great  city  such  as  New 
York  with  the  role  of  the  church  during  the  middle  ages,  in 
Geneva  under  Calvin,  in  Puritan  England  of  Baxter's  day,  or 


270  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

in  New  England  in  the  days  of  the  Mathers  and  Jonathan 
Edwards.  The  direct  influence  of  the  church  as  a  social  insti- 
tution is  by  no  means  as  comprehensive  and  authoritative  as  it 
once  was.  This  is  far  from  saying  that  the  ideals  of  Chris- 
tianity are  absent  from  modern  life.  In  fact,  one  explanation 
for  the  diminished  role  of  the  church  as  an  institution  in 
modern  life  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  values  for  which 
Christianity  has  stood  have  become  part  and  parcel  of  the 
thought  and  life  of  men.  Institutionalized  Christianity  is  less 
influential,  therefore,  because  there  is  no  longer  the  same  need 
for  the  use  of  institutional  forms  in  the  satisfaction  of  the 
religious  needs.  Religion  itself  has  become  a  more  sublimated 
and  spiritualized  thing  in  the  lives  of  men  and  women.  It  has 
taken  on  forms  that  refuse  to  be  bent  to  fit  the  hard  and  more 
or  less  mechanical  setting  of  creed  and  ritual.  But  this  very 
emancipation  of  the  spiritual  loyalties  that  seems  to  prompt 
the  modern  man  to  reject  institutional  Christianity  has  only 
been  made  possible  by  the  age-long  discipline  of  the  thought 
and  feeling  of  men  by  the  church.  It  is,  therefore,  to  a  very 
large  extent  the  church  that  has  emancipated  men  from  the 
necessity  of  her  institutional  forms. 

In  this  process  of  narrowing  the  scope  of  the  church  it  is 
possible  to  note  several  stages.  The  church  during  the  middle 
ages  was  the  keeper  of  the  social  and  political  conscience:  she 
provided  the  teachers  and  the  libraries,  she  taught  men  through 
her  great  monasteries  the  principles  of  agriculture,  she  was  the 
patron  of  art,  the  protector  of  the  marriage  tie,  the  defender  of 
the  weak.  As  a  result  of  the  Reformation  the  church  ceased 
to  be  the  keeper  of  the  political  conscience;  church  and  state 
were  separated.  Under  the  leadership  of  such  men  as  Roger 
Bacon,  Galileo,  and  Descartes  the  realm  of  science  gradually 
emancipated  itself  and  insisted  upon  its  right  to  determine  its 
own  measure  of  value  and  to  set  up  its  own  ideals  of  truth. 
Similarly,  education  underwent  a  process  of  secularization, 
especially  in  America,  and  became  freed  from  ecclesiastical 
control.  Art,  that  during  all  ages  has  owed  a  great  debt  to 
the  church,  has  now  become  thoroughly  secularized  so  far  as 


POSITIVE  CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  THE  CHURCH       271 

its  relation  to  institutionalized  Christianity  is  concerned.  The 
church  no  longer  controls  business  ethic  or  settles  industrial 
problems.  There  has  been,  consequently,  a  gradual  narrowing 
of  the  sphere  of  the  church  that  has  only  been  accentuated  by 
the  increasing  complexity  of  our  modern  life.  To-day  a  stage 
has  been  reached  where  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  institution 
to  dominate  all  the  interests  of  society. 

The  question  arises,  then,  what  is  to  be  the  role  of  the 
church  in  our  modern  life?  What  are  the  particular  functions 
which  she  must  fulfil?  In  at  least  three  respects  it  would 
appear  that  the  church  has  a  role  of  great  importance  for  the 
social  conscience:  (a)  as  the  conserver  of  values,  (b)  through 
the  ministry  of  comfort,  and  (c)  as  an  agency  making  for 
moral  and  spiritual  inspiration. 

If  the  history  of  institutionalized  Christianity  teaches  us 
anything,  it  is  that  religion,  especially  in  its  great  historical 
forms,  is  essentially  conservative.  It  is  concerned  not  so 
much  with  the  creation  as  with  the  conservation  of  values. 
For  this  reason  religion  does  not  have  to  do  primarily  with 
those  phases  of  life  where  values  are  being  created  or  where 
values  are  being  destroyed.  Religion  accepts  and  gives  ac- 
credited place  to  values  after  they  have  once  made  good  in 
human  experience.  Religion  is  the  last  to  discard  values  after 
they  have  undergone  the  fire  of  criticism  and  been  found  want- 
ing. For  this  reason  religion  is  hostile  to  the  new  and  the 
untried  in  human  experience;  it  is  hospitable  to  the  old  and 
familiar.  If  religion  is  born  of  the  will-to-believe  and  if  the 
will-to-believe  is  the  creation  of  the  will-to-live,  it  is  evident 
that  religion's  object  is  a  world  that  is  congenial  to  man's  hopes 
and  ambitions.  The  very  essence  of  religion  is  expressed  by 
William  James  when  he  said  that  the  world  may  indeed  burn 
up  or  freeze,  but  with  a  God  in  it  the  religious  soul  feels  that 
all  cannot  be  lost.  He  is  the  Great  Conserver  of  Values. 

This  fundamental  note  of  religion  as  the  belief  in  the  con- 
servation of  values  has  important  implications  for  the  role  of 
religion  both  in  the  past  and  in  the  present.  It  explains  why 
institutional  religion  has  always  been  opposed  to  the  heretic, 


272  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

the  iconoclast,  and  the  innovator.  Movements  for  reform  have 
almost  invariably  been  begun  by  those  outside  of  institution- 
alized Christianity  and  generally  in  the  face  of  its  bitter  oppo- 
sition. In  the  course  of  time,  however,  when  the  reform  group 
have  made  good  and  the  values  for  which  they  stand  have 
gained  social  recognition,  and  are  recognized  as  of  fundamental 
importance  for  the  community,  these  values  are  usually  ab- 
sorbed by  the  church  and  skilfully  utilized  for  the  spread  of 
her  influence.  Hence,  it  has  happened  again  and  again  in  the 
middle  ages  that  sects  have  arisen  in  revolt  against  the  abuses 
of  institutionalized  Christianity  and  met  with  persecution.  In 
time,  however,  as  the  movements  they  represented  have  gath- 
ered force,  and  as  the  values  for  which  they  stood  have  found 
more  conscious  formulation,  they  have  been  sanctioned  by  the 
church  and  given  places  of  honor  and  power. 

This  explains  why  institutional  religion  has  always  been 
hospitable  toward  all  ideas  that  have  so  embedded  themselves 
in  the  thought  and  life  of  the  masses  of  men  that  they  have 
become  constituent  principles  of  thought  and  action.  This 
was  true  of  the  old  geo-centric  astronomy  which  was  over- 
thrown by  Galileo.  This  was  true  of  the  "  peculiar  institution  " 
of  the  old  slave-holding  South.  When  slavery  had  become 
thoroughly  identified  with  the  economic  and  political  and  social 
life  of  the  South  it  found  in  institutionalized  Christianity  a 
most  ardent  defender.  Something  closely  approximating  this 
can  be  traced  in  communities  where  economic  principles  such 
as  high  protection  have  become  axiomatic  in  the  thought  of 
men.  They  are  seldom  challenged  by  the  representatives  of 
institutionalized  Christianity.  Here  we  have  the  fundamental 
role  of  religion  as  the  conserver  of  values  asserting  itself. 

This  conservative  role  of  institutionalized  religion  in  the 
community  enables  us  to  understand  the  relation  of  the  church 
to  the  social  conscience.  We  must  not  expect  institutionalized 
Christianity  to  head  any  great  revolutionary  movement  for 
reform.  There  is  nothing  in  past  history  to  justify  any  such 
assumption.  The  church's  contribution  has  been  that  of  a 
balance  wheel.  She  insists  upon  holding  on  to  the  good  that 


POSITIVE  CONTRIBUTIONS  OF  THE  CHURCH       273 

has  been  tried  and  admits  new  values  only  after  they  have 
undergone  the  fire  of  criticism.  The  church,  then,  serves  to 
stabilize  the  thinking  of  the  average  man  at  the  higher  levels  of 
his  spiritual  and  moral  loyalties.  It  is  most  important  to  have 
firmly  established  in  the  community  and  enjoying  the  respect 
of  all  a  powerful  institution  that  will  safeguard  the  time- 
honored  beliefs  of  men  in  regard  to  what  they  hold  supremely 
worth  while  in  life.  It  may  be  freely  granted  that  such  a  body 
of  highly-institutionalized  sentiment  may  often  stand  in  the 
way  of  progress.  Behind  it  may  find  shelter  the  hypocrite, 
the  reactionary,  and  even  the  downright  anti-social  individual. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  also  true  that  such  a  body  of 
sentiment  serves  to  anchor  the  convictions  of  the  average  man 
and  provides  him  with  an  authoritative  body  of  principles  for 
meeting  his  problems  as  they  rise  from  day  to  day.  Even  in 
the  case  of  the  reformer,  the  rebel  or  the  radical,  this  stubborn 
and  entrenched  body  of  loyalties  plays  the  role  of  a  convenient 
foil,  a  point  from  which  he  may  launch  his  own  thought  even 
though  it  be  by  way  of  bitter  protest  and  criticism. 

Closely  associated  with  this  role  of  conserver  of  values  is 
another  function  of  the  church,  namely,  the  ministry  of  com- 
fort. What  impresses  every  careful  observer  of  the  average 
church  is  the  conventional  character  of  the  ideas,  the  endless 
repetition  of  old  familiar  doctrines,  the  singing  of  the  same 
hymns,  the  assumption  of  the  same  physical  postures  in  the 
service,  the  intoning  of  the  same  words  in  the  ritual.  This  is 
done  not  only  from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath,  but  from  year  to  year 
and  century  to  century.  One  cannot  help  asking  why  this  end- 
less repetition?  The  answer  is  to  be  found  in  the  psychology 
of  the  religious  experience.  Religious  values  are  rooted  in 
systems  of  sentiment.  At  the  core  of  these  systems  of  senti- 
ments or  beliefs  lie  certain  comprehensive  ideas  as  to  the  soul, 
God,  man,  sin,  evil,  and  the  like.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  the  average  church-member  attends  service  not  to  satisfy 
intellectual  needs  but  to  find  reorientation  upon  these  funda- 
mental issues  of  life.  There  is  an  imperative  need  for  some 
escape  from  the  discouragements,  the  heart-aches,  and  the 


274  THE  ECCLESIASTICAL  ETHIC 

baffling  mysteries  of  daily  life.  To  feel  one's  self  once  more  at 
one  with  the  spiritual  forces  of  the  universe  brings  peace  and 
strength.  There  is,  therefore,  in  every  act  of  worship  some- 
thing akin  to  what  Aristotle  called  the  "  katharsis  of  the  feel- 
ings ".  This  explains  why  the  repetition  of  ritual  and  even  the 
presentation  of  conventional  orthodox  doctrines  are  satisfying. 
The  appeal  is  not  so  much  to  the  intellect  as  to  the  emotions 
and  it  is  the  emotions  that  provide  the  dynamic  of  life. 

The  function  of  the  church  that  is  usually  thrust  most 
into  the  foreground  is  that  of  moral  and  spiritual  leader- 
ship. Here,  however,  we  face  serious  problems.  There  can 
be  no  real  leadership  without  teaching.  Indeed  the  com- 
mand in  the  beginning  was,  "  Go  ye,  therefore,  and  teach  all 
nations  ".  There  can  be  no  effective  teaching  without  intel- 
lectual freedom  and  loyalty  to  the  truth.  It  was  the  great 
Teacher  who  said,  "  Ye  shall  know  the  truth  and  the  truth  shall 
make  you  free  ".  Here,  it  must  be  frankly  confessed,  we  find 
possible  conflict  with  the  other  role  of  the  church  as  the  con- 
server  of  values  and  the  bitter  antagonist  of  the  heretic  or  the 
innovator.  The  future  influence  of  the  church  depends  to  no 
small  degree  upon  how  she  succeeds  in  uniting  these  two  ele- 
ments. Heretofore  the  tendency  has  been  to  make  the  role 
of  teacher  subordinate  to  that  of  the  conserver  of  values. 
Teaching  has  been  largely  the  imparting  of  a  fixed  and  authori- 
tative body  of  truth.  Can  the  church  of  the  future  succeed  in 
adopting  the  scientist's  ideal  of  truth  without  sacrificing  her 
cherished  role  as  the  conserver  of  values?  Will  she  be  able 
to  place  loyalty  to  the  truth  above  mere  authority?  We  can- 
not bring  ourselves  to  believe  that  Plato's  dictum,  "  Let  us 
follow  the  argument  whithersoever  it  leads  us  "  is  inherently 
opposed  to  the  demand  of  the  human  heart  for  a  "  Thus  saith 
the  Lord  ". 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  275 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books:    CALHOUN,   A.   W. :    A   Social  History   of   the   American 
Family,   Vol.    3,    Ch.    13.     "The   Attitude   of   the   Church."     CUNNING- 
HAM, W. :  Christianity  and  Politics,  1915;  EUCKEN,  R. :  Can  We  still  be 
Christians?  1914;   FIGGIS,  J.   N. :   Civilisation  at  the  Cross  Roads,  1912; 
GARROD,  H.  W. :  The  Religion  of  all  Good  Men,  1906;  HENSON,  H.  H. : 
Moral  Discipline  in  the  Christian  Church,  1905 ;   RAUSCHENBUSCH,  W. : 
Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis,  1907;   SMITH,  G.  B. :  Social  Idealism 
and  the  Changing  Theology,  1913;  TYRRELL,  GEORGE:  Medievalism,  1908; 
WINCHESTER,  B.  S. :  Religious  Education  and  Democracy,  1917. 

2.  Articles  :  ANDERSON,  K.  C. :  "  Why  not  Face  the  Facts  ?  "    Hibbert 
Journal,  Vol.  4,  pp.  845  ff. ;  BATTEN  :  "  The  Church  as  the  Maker  of  Con- 
science."    American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  7,  pp.  611  ff. ;  ELLWOOD: 
"The   Social    Function   of   Religion."     American  Journal   of  Sociology, 
Vol.    19,    pp.    289  ff. ;    HOBEN  :    "  American    Democracy    and    the    Modern 
Church."     American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  21,  pp.  458  ff.,  Vol.  22, 
pp.  489  ff. ;  JACKS,  L.  P. :  "  The  Church  and  the  World."    Hibbert  Journal, 
Vol.   5,   pp.    i  ff. ;   LOVEJOY,   A.   O. :    "  Religious    Transition   and    Ethical 
Awakening  in  America."    Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  6,  pp.  500  ff.     MECKLIN, 
J.  M. :   "  The  Passing  of  the   Saint."     American  Journal  of  Sociology, 
Vol.  24,  pp.  353  ff . ;   STEWARDSON,  L.  C. :   "  Effect  of  the  Clerical  Office 
upon   Character."     International  Journal   of  Ethics,  Vol.   4,   pp.  430  ff . ; 
TAYLOR,  G. :   "  The  Social  Function  of  the  Church."     American  Journal 
of  Sociology,  Vol.  5,  pp.  3051  ff. ;  VEBLEN,  T. :  "  Christian  Morals  and  the 
Competitive  System."    International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  20,  pp.  168  ff. ; 
WILSON,  W.  W. :  "  The  Church  and  the  Rural  Community."     American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  16,  pp.  668  ff.  (discussion). 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

§  i.   THE  SOCIAL  FUNCTION  OF  THE  SCHOOL 

EDUCATION  viewed  from  the  social  point  of  view  includes  all 
those  disciplinary  forces  by  which  the  group  makes  sure  that 
the  individual  shares  in  its  purposes  and  interests.  Education 
from  the  individual  point  of  view  is  the  unfolding  of  capacities 
and  powers  through  the  instrumentalities  offered  by  the  group. 
Both  the  individual  and  social  conceptions  of  education  are  but 
phases  of  what  Professor  Dewey  has  called  the  process  of 
"  continuous  self-renewal  "  peculiar  to  society  as  well  as  to  all 
living  and  growing  things.  There  are,  then,  two  elements  in 
the  educational  process,  the  social  environment  together  with 
its  preestablished  norms  of  conduct  to  which  the  individual 
must  adjust  himself  and  the  individual's  instinctive  capacities 
that  are  shaped  by  this  process  of  adjustment. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  society  as  a  whole  is  the  great 
educator.  This  is  especially  true  in  primitive  society  where 
education  is  unconscious  for  the  most  part,  consisting  of  a 
"  non-progressive  adjustment "  to  fixed  customs,  taboos,  and 
a  traditional  way  of  life.  But  even  in  advanced  civilization 
the  school  and  all  the  purposeful  agencies  of  modern  education 
never  supplant  this  subtle  and  unconscious  educative  effect  of 
the  environment.  Our  most  fundamental  conceptions  of  value 
are  arrived  at,  for  the  most  part,  without  conscious  reflection. 
We  cannot  recall  when  they  took  shape  in  our  minds.  They 
have  been  taken  for  granted.  We  have  simply  absorbed  them 
from  the  pervasive  texture  of  the  human  relationships  that 
have  enmeshed  us  from  infancy.  Their  finality  is  to  be  found 
in  just  this  unquestioning  attitude  we  have  always  sustained 
toward  them;  they  appear  to  belong  to  the  eternal  order  of 

276 


THE  COLONIAL  SCHOOL  277 

things.  There  is,  therefore,  a  very  real  sense  in  which  the 
social  conscience,  which  includes  this  heritage  of  ethical  norms 
builded  unconsciously  into  the  structure  of  men's  characters, 
is  a  far  more  effective  moral  educator  than  the  school  can  ever 
hope  to  be. 

The  school  arose  as  a  necessary  means  of  maintaining  group 
continuity.  For  as  human  culture  increased  and  the  gap  be- 
tween child  and  adult  widened  it  became  necessary  to  create  a 
special  institution  for  the  maintenance  of  the  process  of  "  con- 
tinuous self -renewal "  so  necessary  to  the  group.  Herein  lies 
the  role  of  the  school  as  a  social  institution.  The  school  func- 
tioned as  an  instrument  of  social  control  at  first  through  the 
transmission  of  a  body  of  ideals  and  practices.  That  is  to  say, 
the  earlier  school  did  not  control  the  masses  of  men  directly.  It 
gave  to  a  select  group  a  certain  training  that  enabled  them  to 
direct  the  lives  of  their  more  ignorant  fellows.  With  the 
expansion  and  democratization  of  the  school,  education  is  no 
longer  restricted  to  the  favored  few,  though  there  goes  hand  in 
hand  with  the  effort  to  democratize  knowledge  a  selective 
process  by  which  even  a  democracy  seeks  to  assure  to  itself 
efficient  leadership.  Furthermore,  the  school  is  being  stressed, 
especially  since  the  rise  of  big  business,  as  an  instrument 
for  attaining  economic  mastery.  Nations  are  beginning  to 
recognize  what  an  effective  agency  they  have  in  the  school  for 
assuring  material  prosperity  and  the  conquest  of  foreign 
markets.  Finally,  and  perhaps  most  important  of  all,  there 
has  arisen  in  modern  democracy  a  growing  appreciation 
of  the  school  as  the  chosen  instrument  of  a  progressive  com- 
munity in  its  efforts  for  reform.  We  have  now  to  ask  how  the 
school  gained  this  position  of  honor  and  influence  in  American 
democracy. 

§  2.   THE  COLONIAL  SCHOOL 

Those  who  are  fond  of  visualizing  in  diagrammatic  form 
any  process,  and  their  number  is  not  small,  can  picture  to 
themselves  an  unbroken  line  stretching  from  1636,  the  date  of 
the  founding  of  Harvard,  to  the  present  and  this  will  represent 


278     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

the  college.  Parallel  with  this  line  is  a  second,  beginning 
slightly  earlier  than  1636  and  extending  down  to  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century  after  which  it  begins  to  waver  and  dis- 
appear; this  is  the  colonial  grammar  school,  the  feeder  of  the 
colonial  college.  Starting  about  the  time  the  grammar  school 
begins  to  disappear,  becoming  more  clearly  defined  towards  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  reaching  well  into  the  third 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  when  it  also  begins  to  waver 
and  disappear  is  a  third  line  corresponding  to  the  academy, 
the  typical  American  educational  institution  of  the  middle  or 
transitional  period.  Still  a  fourth  line  starts  during  the 
second  quarter  of  the  last  century  and  grows  ever  more  vigor- 
ous as  the  line  of  the  academy  fades  out  and  this  is  the  line 
that  represents  the  rise  and  growth  of  the  high  school,  the 
most  typical  educational  institution  of  modern  American  de- 
mocracy. If  we  add  to  this  the  rise  of  the  great  unified  state 
systems  of  the  middle  and  far  West  after  the  civil  war  and 
the  differentiation  of  the  college  from  the  university  or  grad- 
uate school  signalized  in  the  founding  of  Johns  Hopkins  in  1877 
we  have  a  fairly  complete  bird's-eye  view  of  our  educational 
history. 

It  will  be  seen  that  American  educational  history  falls 
into  three  periods,  the  colonial  from  1636  to  1783,  the  transi- 
tional from  1783  to  1876,  and  the  present.  The  schools  of  the 
colonial  period  were  imitations  of  English  models.  Such  men 
as  John  Cotton,  Ezekiel  Cheever,  Roger  Williams,  and  others 
simply  reproduced  as  best  they  could  the  schools  in  which 
they  had  received  their  training.  Harvard  was  but  the  repro- 
duction of  Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge.  Both  grammar 
school  and  college  were  dominated  by  the  religious  interest. 
Among  the  first  "  rules  and  precepts  "  of  Harvard  we  find  the 
following:  "Let  every  student  be  plainly  instructed,  and  ear- 
nestly pressed  to  consider  well,  the  maine  end  of  his  life  and 
studies  is,  TO  KNOW  GOD  AND  JESUS  CHRIST  WHICH  is  ETERNAL 
LIFE  ".  In  fact,  the  earlier  college  was  but  a  necessary  instru- 
ment for  carrying  out  the  ideal  of  a  theocratic  and  aristocratic 
society  in  which  every  problem,  domestic,  political,  as  well  as 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD     279 

religious,  tended  to  resolve  itself  into  a  controversy  between 
different  sects  over  some  ism  of  theology. 

It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  imagine  that  the  colonial 
college,  because  of  its  intensely  religious  atmosphere  was  there- 
fore impractical  and  devoid  of  social  contacts,  as  is  too  often 
the  case  with  the  modern  small  college.  Quite  the  contrary, 
the  educational  ideal  in  both  college  and  grammar  school  was 
one  of  public  service.  The  idea  that  the  college  exists  for 
culture  pure  and  simple  or  primarily  for  sectarian  purposes 
was  totally  foreign  to  the  minds  of  the  founders  of  Harvard, 
Yale,  William  and  Mary,  or  Princeton.  Both  the  cultural  and 
the  religious  elements  were  subordinated  to  the  performance  of 
social  service  in  church  and  state.  The  college  graduate  and 
especially  the  minister  was  the  moral  and  spiritual  leader  of 
the  community.  Hence  scholarship,  though  narrow  and  pov- 
erty-stricken from  the  modern  point  of  view,  was  vitalized  by 
close  contact  with  the  community  and  the  responsibilities  of 
leadership. 

§  3.   THE  SCHOOL  or  THE  TRANSITIONAL  PERIOD 

If  the  school  system  of  the  colonial  period  with  its  funda- 
mental cleavage  between  the  college  and  the  grammar  school 
on  the  one  hand  and  the  elementary  school  on  the  other  was 
undemocratic,  it  reflected,  nevertheless,  especially  in  colonies 
such  as  Massachusetts,  a  compact  body  of  moral  and  religious 
sentiment.  The  colonial  school  was  the  effective  instrument  of 
the  social  conscience  of  the  period.  During  the  middle  or  transi- 
tional period,  however,  the  situation  was  very  different.  For 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 
centuries  saw  the  breakdown  of  the  old  colonial  system  with 
its  class  distinctions.  Under  the  leadership  of  Jefferson  and 
later  Jackson  arose  a  vigorous  democracy  drawing  its  inspira- 
tion for  the  most  part  from  the  pioneer  West.  Into  this  youth- 
ful and  inchoate  democracy  the  academy  fitted  most  happily. 
It  met  the  demand  of  an  individualistic  age  for  a  school  more 
plastic  than  grammar  school  and  college  that  would  lend  itself 
to  differences  in  creed  or  locality.  In  poverty-stricken  com- 


28o     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

munities  often  sectarianism  had  to  be  banished  in  the  interest  of 
economy.  Thus  did  the  academy  foreshadow  our  secularized 
modern  school  system.  The  new  democracy  demanded  a  train- 
ing less  aristocratic  and  more  practical  than  that  of  the  colonial 
college.  This  the  academy  provided,  for  it  looked  in  two  ways, 
taking  over  the  work  of  the  grammar  school  in  preparing  for 
college  while  teaching  more  practical  subjects  as  direct  equip- 
ment for  life.  Hence  the  academy  forced  the  college  to 
socialize  its  curriculum  by  introducing  scientific  studies  and 
anticipated  the  modern  "  college  of  the  people ",  the  high 
school. 

Through  the  academy  found  expression  the  budding  spirit 
of  American  democracy.  It  was  crude,  having  little  apprecia- 
tion of  true  culture  or  even  of  the  real  nature  of  democracy. 
It  voiced  a  culture  that  created  a  most  disagreeable  impression 
upon  foreigners  with  its  boastfulness,  its  crudity,  its  overween- 
ing optimism,  as  Dickens  has  been  at  particular  pains  to  tell 
the  world  in  his  sketches  of  American  character.  But  in  it 
lay  the  promise  and  the  potency  of  a  great  future.  The 
academy  with  its  individualism,  its  composite  character  of  part 
college  and  part  high  school,  its  Protean  characteristics,  its 
general  lack  of  high  scholarly  ideals,  its  intense  Americanism, 
its  inability  to  integrate  itself  successfully  either  with  college 
or  elementary  school  owing  to  its  local  and  largely  provincial 
character,  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  transitional  insti- 
tution. It  reflected  faithfully  the  lack  of  mature  social  con- 
sciousness in  education  as  well  as  in  all  other  matters.  Hence 
it  has  failed  to  hold  its  own  in  competition  with  the  high  school 
through  which  the  educational  ideals  of  a  mature  democracy 
are  finding  expression. 

§  4.  THE  RISE  OF  THE  DEMOCRATIC  IDEAL  IN  EDUCATION 

If  the  dominating  note  of  the  educational  ideal  of  the 
colonial  era  was  religious  and  aristocratic,  that  of  the  middle 
period  revolutionary  and  transitional,  we  must  call  the  ideal  of 
the  modern  period  democratic  and  social.  The  forces  that  have 
combined  to  make  the  school  more  and  more  the  chosen  instru- 


RISE  OF  DEMOCRATIC  IDEAL  IN  EDUCATION     281 

ment  of  a  self-conscious  democracy  are  many  and  varied. 
Foremost  among  them  stands  the  spirit  of  the  vigorous  pioneer 
democracy  that  arose  in  connection  with  the  development  of 
the  vast  national  domain  of  the  West,  a  spirit  that  has  domi- 
nated the  life  of  the  nation  not  only  in  business  and  in 
politics  but  likewise  in  education.  This  spirit  did  not  become 
articulate  so  far  as  education  was  concerned  until  the  fourth 
decade  of  the  last  century.  Legislators  were  largely  indifferent 
to  the  problem  of  education.  In  a  poverty-stricken  pioneer 
country  the  tax-payers  were  unwilling  to  assume  the  financial 
burden  of  the  school.  The  groups  and  localities  had  little  sense 
of  social  responsibility.  The  old  aristocratic  colonial  educa- 
tional ideal  was  still  strong;  the  better  classes  often  would  not 
send  their  children  to  a  public  school  because  it  smacked  of 
charity.  Denominationalism  opposed  a  secularized  school.  A 
great  democratic  system  of  education  was  the  dream  of  men 
like  Jefferson  and  Monroe;  it  had  little  basis  in  popular  con- 
viction. 

But  forces  were  at  work  tending  to  quicken  the  social  spirit 
in  educational  matters.  The  pressure  of  the  problems  of  de- 
mocracy gradually  created  an  appreciation  of  the  school  as  a 
social  institution.  At  the  beginning  of  our  national  life  condi- 
tions were  comparatively  simple;  we  were  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  still  a  pioneer  people.  The  home,  the  farm,  and  the 
apprentice  system  provided  much  of  the  practical  training  for 
life.  Agriculture  was  the  prevailing  occupation.  The  period 
from  1800  to  1850  saw  an  unparalleled  expansion  in  both 
population  and  industry.  The  application  of  steam  to  trans- 
portation, of  electricity  to  communication,  and  the  multipli- 
cation of  labor-saving  devices  vastly  increased  the  capacity  for 
production,  set  men  free  from  the  exacting  toil  of  food  produc- 
tion, enabled  them  to  concentrate  in  large  cities,  gave  them 
leisure,  and  quickened  their  interest  in  the  higher  things  of 
life.  All  this  increased  the  demand  for  knowledge  to  meet 
these  new  conditions.  Finally  the  spirit  of  democracy,  becom- 
ing ever  more  intelligent  and  self-conscious,  was  making  for 
religious  toleration,  for  freedom  of  individual  initiative,  for  the 


282      THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

humanitarian  spirit.  Men  were  full  of  visions  of  political  and 
social  Utopias.  The  most  striking  illustration  of  this  spirit 
of  ferment  appeared  in  the  literary  renaissance  of  New  Eng- 
land and  the  Transcendentalism  of  Emerson  and  the  Concord 
School. 

By  the  end  of  the  fourth  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century 
we  find  that  the  spirit  of  democracy  had  effected  a  complete 
change  in  educational  ideals.  The  doctrine  of  free  education 
for  all  was  now  proclaimed  as  a  right.  Universal  education  was 
urged  as  the  condition  prerequisite  to  the  preservation  of 
democracy.  This  culminated  in  the  great  movement  for  a 
democratized  secondary  school  system,  initiated  by  Horace 
Mann  in  Massachusetts  in  1837  and  subsequently  adopted 
throughout  the  country.  The  high  school,  the  product  of  this 
movement,  is  par  excellence  the  educational  institution  of 
American  democracy.  This  is  evinced  by  the  fact  that  it  arose 
in  the  city  where  the  spirit  of  democracy  was  more  intensely 
alert  and  intelligent,  and  secondly  by  the  sanctions  appealed  to 
by  those  that  championed  it.  Hon.  George  S.  Boutell,  secre- 
tary of  the  Massachusetts  Board  of  Education,  said  in  an 
address  delivered  1856,  "  The  distinguishing  difference  be- 
tween the  advocates  of  endowed  schools  and  of  free  schools  is 
this:  those  who  advocated  the  system  of  endowed  academies 
go  back  in  their  arguments  to  one  foundation,  which  is  that  in 
education  of  the  higher  grades  the  great  masses  of  the  people 
are  not  to  be  trusted.  And  those  who  advocate  a  system  of 
free  education  in  high  schools  put  the  matter  where  we  have  put 
the  rights  of  property  and  liberty,  where  we  put  the  institu- 
tions of  law  and  of  religion — upon  the  public  judgment.  And 
we  will  stand  there.  If  the  public  will  not  maintain  institu- 
tions of  learning,  then,  I  say,  let  institutions  of  learning  go 
down." 

By  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  therefore,  there  was  a 
growing  conviction  that  a  free  educational  system  was  an  ob- 
ligation resting  upon  the  states,  that  this  system  makes  for  effi- 
ciency in  industry  and  for  better  citizenship  because  placing  in 
the  hands  of  a  free  and  intelligent  democracy  a  powerful  agency 


THE  EDUCATIONAL  AIM  AND  THE  MORAL  IDEAL     283 

for  progress.  The  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the  school 
since  then  have  but  made  more  articulate  these  great  ideals  of 
democracy.  To  the  school  democracy  looks  for  the  Ameri- 
canization of  the  immigrant,  for  the  closer  integration  and 
moral  enlightenment  of  our  amorphous  city  populations,  for 
the  provision  of  industrial  and  vocational  training  made  neces- 
sary by  the  rapid  industrial  expansion  of  the  nation  during  the 
last  generation,  and  finally  for  aid  in  the  correction  of  the 
political,  social,  and  economic  ills  to  which  American  democ- 
racy has  fallen  heir  as  a  result  of  unparallelled  prosperity. 
"  The  ideas  taught  in  the  school  to-day  become  the  actuating 
principles  of  democracy  to-morrow.  .  .  .  Our  state  govern- 
ments are  weak  and  inefficient,  we  say;  the  school  must  then 
teach,  and  teach  in  some  effective  manner,  the  principles  of 
strong  and  effective  government.  Our  city  governments  are 
corrupt,  we  hear;  fundamental  moral  and  economic  principles 
must  then  be  taught  to  the  masses,  so  that  they  may  realize  the 
importance  of  civic  righteousness,  and  understand  as  well  who 
ultimately  pays  the  bills  for  all  mismanagement.  Our  people 
waste  their  money  and  their  leisure  in  idle  and  profligate  ways, 
we  say;  a  knowledge  of  values  and  of  how  to  utilize  leisure  time 
must  then  be  taught.  .  .  .  Through  all  the  complicated 
machinery  of  the  school,  some  way  must  be  found  to  awaken  a 
social  consciousness  as  opposed  to  class  consciousness,  to  bring 
out  the  important  social  and  civic  lessons,  to  point  out  our 
social  and  civic  need,  and  to  teach  our  young  people  how  to 
live  better  and  to  make  better  use  of  their  leisure  time."  1 

§  5.   THE  EDUCATIONAL  AIM  AND  THE  MORAL  IDEAL 

Any  intensive  discussion  of  the  relation,  of  the  school  to  the 
social  conscience  is  faced  at  the  start  with  the  relation  of  the 
educational  aim  to  the  social  aim  and  the  bearing  of  both  social 
and  educational  aim  upon  the  moral  aim.  Even  a  cursory 
reading  of  recent  educational  literature  shows  much  confusion 
and  laxity  of  thinking  at  this  point.  The  aim  of  education  is 
commonly  stated  as  "  social  efficiency  "  or  the  "  socialization 

1 E.  P.  Cubberley,  Changing  Conceptions  of  Education,  p.  65  f. 


284     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

of  the  individual  ".  That  is,  the  educational  aim  is  interpreted 
in  terms  of  the  social  aim. 

The  sweeping  identification  of  the  educational  with  the 
social  aim  is  open  to  criticisms.  It  assumes  that  education 
must  be  subordinated  to  the  demands  of  the  social  process. 
The  social  aim  is  made  to  include  the  educational  aim  since 
the  part  is  contained  in  the  whole  and  finds  its  meaning 
in  terms  of  the  whole.  This  amounts  to  depriving  the  educator 
of  all  real  initiative  and  powers  of  leadership.  It  places  him 
at  the  mercy  of  the  social  process.  He  becomes  merely  the 
purveyor  to  society's  needs  and  as  society  interprets  those 
needs.  He  cannot  place  himself  outside  the  social  process  and 
as  critic  advise  and  lead. 

Furthermore,  we  miss  in  much  of  the  educational  literature 
of  the  day  any  clear  statement  as  to  the  relation  of  the  social 
and  the  educational  to  the  ethical.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  to 
be  tacitly  assumed  that  the  ethical  aim  is  either  identical  with 
or  subordinate  to  the  social  aim.  Now  it  is  evident  that 
socialization  or  social  efficiency  is  far  from  being  identical  with 
moral  excellence.  For  character  will  vary  with  the  type 
of  socialization  demanded.  Socialization  during  the  middle 
ages,  in  Calvinistic  Geneva,  in  militaristic  Germany,  or  in 
democratic  America  means  very  different  things.  The  sociali- 
zation sought  by  the  college  and  grammar  school  of  colonial 
days  has  little  in  common  with  that  demanded  by  modern 
intensive  democracy.  Socialization  is  a  relative  term.  If  mere 
social  efficiency  is  the  test,  Germany  has  probably  produced  the 
best  type  of  education  and  hence  the  most  morally  valuable 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  If  we  reject  the  type  of  social 
efficiency  sought  in  German  education  it  is  upon  some  other 
basis  than  that  of  mere  social  efficiency  or  socialization  of  the 
individual.  That  ultimate  measure  of  values  is  evidently 
ethical  rather  than  either  social  or  educational. 

The  prevailing  enthusiasm  for  "  social  efficiency  "  in  educa- 
tion is  the  result  of  a  revolt  against  older  educational  ideals 
that  were  personal  and  subjective.  This  emphasis  of  the  social, 
the  factual,  and  the  utilitarian,  while  indicating  a  healthful  re- 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  NORMS  OF  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE     285 

action,  has  reduced  the  ethical  element  in  many  cases  to  a 
negligible  quantity.  "  Social  efficiency  "  in  many  books  on 
education  is  equivalent  to  ethical  relativism  or  even  ethical 
indifference.  The  older  educators  with  their  emphasis  upon 
formal  ethics  and  discipline  made  the  moral  life  unreal,  aristo- 
cratic, and  impractical.  Our  modern  educator  often  flattens 
out  all  ethical  distinctions,  takes  the  edge  off  the  moral  ought 
with  such  attractive  and  yet  unpardonably  vague  generaliza- 
tions as  "  social  aim  ",  "  social  efficiency,"  or  "  socialization  ". 
He  often  gives  us  the  impression  that  ethics  is  but  a  phase  of 
biology. 

Viewing  the  educational  problem  from  the  broad  moral 
point  of  view  it  must  include  at  least  three  elements,  first  the 
Greek  idea  of  insight,  which  means  all  that  history,  science, 
literature,  and  philosophy  can  contribute  in  the  way  of  moral 
enlightenment,  secondly,  goodness  of  disposition  which  will  in- 
cline to  the  pursuit  of  the  true  and  the  good  without  external 
coercion,  and  thirdly,  habituation  of  the  will  through  which  the 
performance  of  socially  valuable  acts  is  assured  in  the  most 
economical  and  expeditious  fashion.  To  be  truly  moral,  in 
other  words,  the  educational  process  must  acquaint  with  those 
great  human  values,  a  knowledge  of  which  is  indispensable  to 
the  solution  of  present-day  problems.  These  values  must  not 
merely  be  assimilated  intellectually;  they  must  have  a  sure 
place  in  the  affections  of  the  masses  of  men  so  that  they  are 
loved  for  their  own  sakes.  Finally  men  must  be  provided  with 
habits  and  means  of  expression  through  which  devotion  to  the 
best  things  may  make  itself  effective  in  the  practical  affairs 
of  life.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  educator  has  not  accomplished 
his  purpose  until  the  ideals  for  which  he  strives  have  be- 
come part  and  parcel  of  the  social  conscience  of  the  com- 
munity. 

§  6.   THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  NORMS  OF  THE 
SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

What  are  the  great  ethical  norms  that  the  school  should 
keep  in  mind  in  its  effort  to  shape  the  social  conscience?    For 


286     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

the  oldest  and  still  the  most  important  duty  of  the  school  is 
the  assurance  of  the  continuity  of  the  social  heritage  through 
the  interpretation  and  transmission  of  moral  traditions.  The 
traditional  democratic  norms  are  freedom,  equality,  and  fra- 
ternity. Two  criticisms  may  be  offered  of  the  idea  of  free- 
dom common  to  educational  literature  of  the  day.  It  draws 
its  inspiration  too  much  from  the  philosophy  of  Rousseau 
and  his  followers,  and  it  fails  to  appreciate  the  ethical  sig- 
nificance of  work.  We  are  fast  coming  to  see  the  limita- 
tions of  the  doctrine  of  laissez  faire  in  politics  and  economics. 
It  is  time  that  we  recognize  the  limits  of  Rousseau's  doctrine 
of  spontaneous  self-assertion  and  the  training  of  the  child 
through  the  results  of  its  acts.  Rousseauism  fails  to  rec- 
ognize the  institutional  and  social  phase  of  freedom.  For 
freedom  is  not  merely  a  matter  of  the  assertion  of  native 
impulses.  The  Emersonian  dictum,  "  Follow  your  whim,"  con- 
tains its  own  moral  refutation.  Freedom  never  becomes  moral 
until  there  is  an  intelligent  appreciation  of  the  limits  of  one's 
acts.  The  morally  free  act  is  one  that  finds  point  and  direc- 
tion through  social  institutions,  that  draws  its  sanctions  from 
the  community.  Law,  authority,  and  the  institutional  life  are 
not  a  hindrance  to  freedom;  they  make  it  possible,  nay,  more, 
are  its  indispensable  prerequisites. 

This  social  phase  of  freedom  needs  to  be  stressed  in  both 
school  and  society.  We  have  insisted  in  kindergarten,  high 
school,  college,  business,  and  politics,  upon  the  necessity  of 
free,  untrammelled  individual  initiative.  But  we  have  neg- 
lected or  stressed  lightly  the  relation  of  this  individual  asser- 
tion to  law  and  order.  The  secret  of  a  mature,  self-poised 
national  character  is  found  in  the  proper  balance  between  these 
two  phases.  It  is  the  basic  problem  of  civilization  just  as  it  is 
the  basic  problem  of  democracy.  The  task  of  the  school  is  to 
bring  the  prospective  citizen  to  realize  that  in  a  democracy  the 
individual  himself  must  to  a  large  extent  achieve  his  freedom 
by  recognizing  its  necessary  limitations.  Through  the  social- 
izing influences  of  the  school,  such  as  student  self-government, 
there  is  opportunity  for  teaching  the  individual  that  freedom 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  NORMS  OF  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE     287 

and  authority  are  not  in  eternal  opposition  but  are  parts  of  one 
indissoluble  moral  and  human  whole. 

Closely  associated  with  the  idea  of  freedom  is  the  question 
of  the  ethical  value  of  work.  Many  educators  have  gone  to 
the  extreme  in  their  revolt  against  the  Puritan  doctrine  of  the 
disciplinary  value  of  work  reflected  in  John  Locke's  famous 
Thoughts  on  Education.  Rousseau's  sentimental  glorifica- 
tion of  the  native  impulses  is  more  agreeable  and  more  mod- 
ern. Discipline  in  the  sense  of  drudgery  or  toil  is  not  only 
irksome  but  non-essential  in  character  building,  even  downright 
immoral.  We  sometimes  get  the  impression  from  recent  edu- 
cational literature  that  the  study  of  the  ancient  languages  and 
mathematics  is  pedagogically  wicked.  Is 'it  true  that,  as  we 
go  from  the  level  of  play  and  free  spontaneous  self-assertion 
to  that  of  toil  and  drudgery,  we  pass  from  the  realm  of 
the  moral  to  that  of  the  immoral?  The  question  is  well  worth 
asking  in  view  of  the  general  movement  to  eliminate  from  the 
school  all  studies  that  do  not  call  out  the  spontaneous  and 
pleasurable  exercise  of  power  or  else  lead  directly  to  practical 
and  utilitarian  ends. 

If  it  be  true,  as  the  prevailing  educational  philosophy 
insists,  that  the  school  does  not  merely  prepare  for  life  but  is 
life  itself,  then  we  may  safely  assert  that  any  school  from 
which  drudgery  has  been  banished  is  not  life  and  does  not 
prepare  for  life.  For  drudgery  in  the  sense  of  being  morally 
obligated  to  perform  tasks  that  are  unattractive  and  do  not 
possess  for  us  any  inherent  interest  is  an  inescapable  fact  of  life. 
It  meets  us  at  every  level  from  that  of  the  mill-hand  to  that  of 
the  great  scientific  investigator.  It  is  by  no  means  unknown  in 
the  experience  of  the  artist.  To  be  sure  there  is  little  moral 
value  in  forcing  one's  self  to  the  performance  of  a  thing 
simply  because  it  is  drudgery.  One  can  appreciate  the  point 
of  view  of  the  railroad  president  who  expressed  a  preference  for 
men  who  had  been  forced  to  master  one  difficult  and  distasteful 
thing  even  though  it  be  a  Latin  dictionary  without  necessarily 
endorsing  his  pedagogy.  Drudgery  is  only  moral  of  course  in 
so  far  as  it  is  rational  or  looks  to  some  valuable  end,  though 


288     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

that  end  may  be  remote  and  often  unappreciated  at  the  time. 
In  the  midst  of  the  prevailing  enthusiasm  for  the  agreeable 
and  the  spontaneous  it  is  well  to  remember  that  if  the  school 
is  to  be  true  to  life  it  must  turn  out  men  and  women  tenacious 
of  purpose  and  not  lacking  in  toughness  of  moral  fiber,  an  end 
never  to  be  gained  by  following  the  primrose  path  of  Rous- 
seauism. 

Most  comprehensive  of  all  the  ethical  norms  and  hence  the 
most  difficult  to  grasp  in  all  its  bearings  is  that  of  justice.  In 
the  life  of  the  child  and  the  adolescent  the  notion  of  justice 
takes  on  for  the  most  part  the  form  of  fair-play.  The  concrete 
instances  in  which  justice  in  the  form  of  fair-play  is  con- 
stantly occurring  in  the  family,  the  gang,  or  the  school  group 
are  easily  grasped.  The  basis  is  laid  here  for  loyalty  to  the 
principle  of  fairness  that  will  be  enriched  and  enlarged  through 
business,  social  or  political  relations.  Not,  however,  until  the 
principle  underlying  all  these  concrete  instances  has  been 
grasped  and  has  become  an  integral  part  of  disposition  so  that 
it  is  loved  and  sought  for  its  own  sake  has  the  norm  of  justice 
become  socially  valuable  in  the  largest  sense. 

As  the  school  becomes  more  efficient  and  expresses  in  con- 
scious fashion  the  enlightened  moral  sentiment  of  the  com- 
munity it  will  become  the  concrete  embodiment  of  the  prin- 
ciple of  social  justice.  For  the  school  not  only  subjects  the 
social  heritage  to  a  critical  examination  before  it  hands  it  on 
to  the  next  generation;  it  is  coming  to  select  and  test  the 
human  material.  This  means  that  the  school  is  becoming 
society's  chosen  instrument  for  the  distribution  of  individuals 
and  classes.  It  seeks  to  prevent  social  adjustments  from  being 
made  in  arbitrary,  accidental,  and  wasteful  fashion.  The 
"  mute  inglorious  Miltons "  with  their  eloquent  protests 
against  the  vast  stupidities  of  society  will  be  less  frequent 
in  proportion  as  individual  talent  and  ability  are  made 
determining  factors  in  social  adjustment.  The  school  thus 
comes  to  embody  in  a  measure  the  very  spirit  of  social  justice 
itself.  It  educates  through  the  concrete  contributions  it  makes 
to  the  solution  of  the  social  problem.  We  are  discovering 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  NORMS  OF  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE     289 

that  justice  is  not  a  matter  of  bestowing  indiscriminately 
the  largest  possible  amount  of  educational  goods.  To  ignore 
vocational  training  and  to  insist  upon  providing  a  liberal 
education  for  all  on  the  ground  that  this  is  democracy  will 
result  in  the  end  in  violating  the  fundamental  principle  of 
democracy,  namely,  justice.  For  the  same  reason  it  is  unjust 
to  thrust  upon  the  immature  boy  or  girl  the  claims  of  the  voca- 
tional and  the  utilitarian  in  education  without  giving  him  an 
opportunity  to  discover  whether  he  may  not  have  some  better 
contribution  to  make  to  society  than  merely  to  earn  his  bread. 

Even  more  important  in  modern  democracy  than  either  free- 
dom or  equity  is  the  notion  of  fraternity  or  the  feeling  of  sym- 
pathetic like-mindedness.  This  is,  after  all,  the  fundamental 
state  of  mind  that  is  required  before  either  freedom  or  justice 
can  be  more  than  names.  There  must  exist  between  groups  and 
individuals,  classes  and  conflicting  interests,  the  sympathetic 
attitude  that  enables  each  to  enter  fully  and  intelligently  into 
the  position  of  the  other.  Where  sympathy  is  absent,  jealousy 
and  hatred  easily  arise  and  strained  situations  dangerous  to 
the  integrity  of  true  democracy.  This  is  strikingly  illustrated 
in  the  lack  of  sympathy  between  the  industrial  and  capitalistic 
groups  in  American  society.  Where  like-mindedness  is  lacking 
there  can  be  no  cooperation  and  no  justice.  Sympathy  in  this 
sense  is  more  fundamental  than  mere  gregariousness  or  even 
sociability.  To  secure  true  sympathy  in  the  school  there  must 
be  something  more  than  the  mere  mechanical  herding  of  boys 
and  girls  together  within  the  walls  of  the  same  building.  There 
must  be  real  insight  into  the  lives  and  the  problems  of  others 
through  the  cultivation  of  the  social  imagination  which  enables 
one  to  live  over  the  inner  life  of  the  other.  The  catholicity  of 
interests  and  the  natural  unspoiled  impulses  of  youth  facilitate 
the  cultivation  of  sympathy  and  the  creation  of  a  democratic 
like-mindedness. 

The  natural  fruit  of  sympathy  is  the  spirit  of  tolerance, 
one  of  the  rarest  of  all  the  virtues  and  yet  one  absolutely 
necessary  in  a  democracy.  For  tolerance  is  not  a  mere  nega- 
tive virtue.  It  means  vastly  more  than  the  principle  of  laissez 


2QO     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

jaire.  It  implies  a  far  deeper  insight  into  the  moral  economy. 
Tolerance  implies  a  recognition  of  the  right  of  each  to  cham- 
pion his  own  opinions  in  the  interest  of  his  own  self-develop- 
ment even  when  those  opinions  may  be  throughly  diverse  from 
those  of  his  fellows.  Tolerance  looks  beyond  the  individual  or 
the  sect  to  the  larger,  richer  life  of  the  community  as  a  whole. 
Tolerance,  therefore,  can  only  be  cultivated  from  the  whole  or 
the  social  point  of  view.  It  is  not  at  home  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  denominational  school.  But  it  should  pervade  the 
atmosphere  and  condition  every  thought  and  act  of  the  public 
school.  Where  it  has  become  an  integral  part  of  the  character 
of  the  prospective  citizenship  we  have  one  of  the  best  guar- 
antees for  an  intelligent  solution  of  the  problems  of  democracy. 
Sympathetic  like-mindedness,  the  spirit  of  fair-play  and 
of  tolerance  should  find  concrete  expression  in  cooperation. 
They  are  but  the  subjective  correlatives  of  cooperation,  and 
intelligent  cooperation  comes  very  near  to  expressing  the  very 
essence  of  practical  democracy.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that 
of  the  three  great  forms  of  social  organization  that  have  arisen 
in  the  history  of  civilization,  namely,  dominance,  competition, 
and  cooperation,  the  last  best  expresses  the  spirit  of  man  and  is 
destined,  therefore,  to  play  the  leading  role  in  the  human  rela- 
tionships of  the  future.1  If  the  school,  then,  is  to  prepare 
for  life  in  a  democracy  it  should  be  animated  throughout  with 
the  spirit  of  cooperation.  We  are  just  beginning  to  realize  the 
practical  possibilities  for  cooperation  in  the  school. 

§  7.   THE  TEACHER  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

Of  the  three  chief  instruments  utilized  by  the  school  as  a 
moral  agency,  namely,  personality,  moral  training,  and  moral 
instruction,  the  first  two  take  decided  precedence  over  the 
last  in  the  elementary  school.  As  between  the  personal  in- 
fluence of  the  teacher  and  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the  school 
life  it  is  probable,  especially  in  the  lower  grades,  that  per- 
sonality is  the  most  important.  And  since  by  far  the  largest 
percentage  of  children  is  found  in  the  lower  grades  of  the 

1 J.  H.  Tufts,  The  Ethics  of  Cooperation,  pp.  5  f. 


THE  TEACHER  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE     291 

elementary  school,  it  follows  that  the  character  of  the  teachers 
of  these  grades  is  of  the  utmost  importance  in  forming  the 
ethical  ideals  of  the  community. 

A  study  of  the  composition  of  the  teaching  population  of 
the  elementary  schools  seems  to  indicate  that  apart  from  the 
legal  and  general  factors  such  as  training,  age,  experience, 
health,  and  the  like  affecting  the  selection  of  the  teacher,  there 
are  other  forces  at  work.  As  a  result  of  the  operation  of 
social  and  economic  conditions,  "  the  intellectual  possessions  of 
the  race  are  by  rather  unconscious  selection  left  to  a  class  of 
people  who  by  social  and  economic  station  as  well  as  by  train- 
ing are  not  eminently  fitted  for  their  transmission  ".  The 
teachers  of  the  elementary  school  come  predominantly  from 
the  farming  class  where  there  are  large  families  and  where 
there  is  economic  pressure  to  enter  teaching.  Consequently, 
tastes  of  this  group  are  not  as  a  rule  those  of  men  and 
women  who  have  had  some  leisure  for  the  cultivation 
of  the  finer  things  of  life.  Their  salaries,  furthermore,  are 
often  less  than  those  of  the  mechanic  and  the  day  laborer  and 
effectually  preclude  the  acquiring  of  cultured  tastes  even  where 
there  is  the  inclination.  Low  salaries  also  explain  perhaps  the 
complaint  that  there  is  a  deterioration  especially  among  the 
male  teachers  and  that  they  come  to-day  from  a  lower  social 
stratum  than  formerly.  The  situation  has  been  aggravated  by 
the  increased  cost  of  living.  The  joint  result  is  that  individuals 
of  initiative  and  talent  are  discouraged  from  teaching.  A 
premium  is  placed  upon  mediocrity.  The  profession  has  little 
to  show  in  the  way  of  standards  or  esprit  de  corps.  Craft 
spirit  is  largely  absent.  Yet  into  the  hands  of  this  group  is 
being  committed  the  most  important  task  of  transmitting  the 
culture  of  the  past,  conserving  our  great  ethical  traditions  and 
shaping  the  ideals  of  the  rising  generation. 

The  problem  is  still  further  complicated  by  the  increasing 
feminization  of  the  teaching  profession.  In  1919  only  19.9% 
of  our  teachers  were  men.  This  large  percentage  of  women, 
themselves  mostly  young  and  immature,  two-thirds  being  under 
thirty,  holding  a  position  on  the  average  only  two  terms  and 


2Q2      THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

remaining  in  the  profession  on  the  average  only  four  years, 
creates  a  most  serious  problem  for  all  interested  in  educational 
matters.  The  woman  teacher  does  not  as  a  rule  bring  to  social 
questions  the  concreteness  and  vigor  of  the  man;  she  does  not 
look  upon  the  teaching  profession  as  permanent  and  hence 
refuses  to  submit  to  technical  preparation  and  lacks  profes- 
sional pride;  she  is  prone  to  accept  lower  wages  and  thus  keep 
down  the  economic  status  of  the  group;  she  seldom  becomes 
interested  or  active  in  political  or  communal  matters.  It  has 
been  asserted  "  teaching  can  never  become  a  profession,  with 
the  social  standing  and  rewards  of  other  professions,  until  the 
number  of  men  engaged  in  it  is  approximately  as  large  as 
the  number  of  women." 

The  status  of  the  teacher  is  at  its  worst  in  the  elementary 
school,  where  there  is  contact  with  the  largest  percentage 
of  the  youth  of  the  community.  But  conditions  at  the  level 
of  high  school  and  college  are  far  from  ideal.  If  the 
educative  influence  of  his  life  and  personality  is  to  be  effec- 
tive, the  teacher  should  be  able  to  live  a  normal  and  con- 
tented existence,  thoroughly  identifying  himself  with  the 
institutional  life  of  the  community.  He  should  have  a 
definite  status,  one  quite  as  secure  and  respected  as  that  of 
physician  or  lawyer.  Too  often  he  is  treated  as  a  mere  hireling 
whose  position  in  the  institution  he  serves  is  hardly  as  secure 
as  that  of  the  unionized  laborer  in  the  mill.  When,  true  to  his 
convictions,  he  lifts  his  voice  in  protest  or  in  criticism  not 
seldom  he  is  treated  as  an  academic  Ishmaelite  and  banished 
to  the  wilderness.  This  failure  on  the  part  of  the  community 
to  accord  to  the  teacher  a  respected  and  independent  status  is 
leading  teachers  to  form  unions,  often  identifying  themselves 
with  one  group  in  the  community,  namely,  the  industrial 
workers.  If  this  movement  continues  it  will  be  interesting 
to  observe  what  effect  it  will  have  upon  the  role  of  the  teacher 
as  the  one  who  interprets  and  transmits  to  the  next  generation 
the  fundamental  ethical  norms  that  compose  the  social 
conscience. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  MORAL  DISCIPLINE  293 

§  8.   THE  SCHOOL  AND  MORAL  DISCIPLINE 

Only  second  in  importance  to  the  influence  of  the  teacher 
upon  the  character  of  the  child  is  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the 
school  life.  If  the  child  is  to  be  brought  into  sympathetic  and 
intelligent  relations  with  those  great  ethical  traditions  that 
make  society  possible,  then  the  school  must  be  made  into  "  a 
vital  social  institution  ".  That  is  to  say,  the  school  must  con- 
stantly reproduce  typical  social  situations.  Where  the  school 
has  not  been  socialized  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  on  the 
child  will  appear  arbitrary  and  negative.  Moral  habits  are  built 
up  most  effectively  not  through  constant  correction  but  rather 
through  spontaneous  self-assertion.  In  the  average  school, 
says  Professor  Dewey,  duties  are  as  a  rule  "  distinctively  school 
duties,  not  life  duties.  If  we  compare  this  with  the  well- 
ordered  home  we  find  that  the  duties  and  responsibilities  which 
the  child  has  to  recognize  and  assume  there  are  not  such  as 
belong  to  the  family  as  a  specialized  and  isolated  institution, 
but  flow  from  the  very  nature  of  the  social  life  in  which  the 
family  participates  and  to  which  it  contributes.  The  child 
ought  to  have  exactly  the  same  motives  for  right  doing  and  be 
judged  by  exactly  the  same  standards  in  the  school,  as  the 
adult  in  the  wider  social  life  to  which  he  belongs." 

After  all,  ethical  norms  when  most  effective  do  not  appear 
on  the  surface  of  conduct.  They  are  rather  the  implications, 
the  rational  interpretations  of  ways  of  acting.  When  we  can 
assure  a  school  life  based  upon  social  insight  and  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  demands  of  society  the  ethical  norms  involved  be- 
come concrete  and  living  realities.  Through  conduct  con- 
stantly repeated  until  it  becomes  a  habitude  the  concrete  ex- 
perience is  accumulated  for  the  understanding  of  the  principles 
concerned.  It  is  through  action  and  that  for  the  most  part 
unconscious  and  habitual  that  the  child  lives  himself  into  the 
moral  economy  of  the  school.  The  skill  of  the  teacher  appears 
in  making  this  process  a  natural  and  as  far  as  possible  an 
agreeable  one.  Professor  Sharp  thus  comments  upon  the 
educative  effect  of  the  Francis  W.  Parker  school  of  Chicago: 


294     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

"  The  pupil  has  before  him  constantly  a  living  model  of  a  well- 
ordered  community.  It  is  a  community  whose  members  co- 
operate freely  and  gladly  without  any  calculation  of  the  exact 
balance  between  give  and  take.  This  model  is  not  merely  a 
picture  he  looks  upon  from  without,  it  is  rather  a  life  which 
embraces  his  own,  whose  nature  he  feels  because  he  is  a  part 
of  it  and  it  is  in  a  very  real  sense  a  part  of  him.  A  craving 
for  harmony  of  purpose,  a  desire  to  live  in  unity  with  one's 
fellows,  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  mutual  confidence  and 
good  will,  are  the  normal  outcomes  of  such  an  experience.  In 
the  more  favorable  instances  this  will  mean  an  impression 
which  continues  and  determines  ideals  and  conduct  through 
life."  x 

It  is  often  imagined  by  educators  that  the  sheer  routine  of 
the  school  life  when  ordered  and  smooth  will  insure  training  in 
character.  For  does  it  not  entail  punctuality,  neatness,  truth- 
fulness, accuracy,  and  a  host  of  other  virtues?  But  the  so- 
called  school  virtues  are  in  and  of  themselves  no  more  valuable 
than  other  virtues  of  the  office,  the  mill,  or  the  department 
store.  So  long  as  the  horizon  from  which  the  school  virtues 
are  measured  is  the  four  walls  of  the  school  they  will  have  little 
social  significance.  For  true  morality  requires  the  whole  point 
of  view.  That  is  to  say,  these  routine  virtues,  that  might  be 
called  the  indispensable  moral  minimum  to  the  existence  of 
the  school's  life,  must  be  integrated  in  some  way  with  the 
larger  social  situation.  They  must  be  vitalized  by  some  sort  of 
intelligent  relation  to  the  community.  Here  is  the  necessary 
point  of  contact  between  school  and  social  conscience.  They 
stand  in  mutual  need  of  each  other.  The  school  needs  the 
inspiration  and  power  gained  through  contact  with  the  moral 
sentiment  of  the  community.  The  social  conscience  needs  the 
school  for  enlightenment,  criticism,  and  above  all  as  the  instru- 
ment for  the  training  of  efficient  citizenship. 

In  some  schools  the  attempt  has  been  made  to  secure 
direct  training  for  citizenship  by  enlisting  high  school  stu- 
dents in  movements  for  the  civic  betterment  of  their  own 

1  Education  for  Character,  p.  105. 


MORAL  THOUGHTFULNESS  295 

communities.  A  most  interesting  experiment  of  this  sort  is 
the  high  school  of  Two  Rivers,  Michigan,  in  which  a  "  flaccid 
debating  society  "  was  transformed  into  a  Young  Men's  Civic 
Club,  including  practically  all  male  high  school  students.  This 
club  was  instrumental  in  renovating  the  cemetery,  establishing 
public  bath  houses,  and  creating  a  park.  Of  the  moral  effect 
of  this  upon  these  students  and  community,  Professor  Sharp 
says,  "  This  makes  not  merely  for  municipal  and  national 
patriotism.  It  makes,  or  at  least  tends  to  make,  for  trust- 
worthiness and  good  will  as  between  man  and  man,  and  in- 
deed all  the  feelings  which  knit  men  together  and  give  them  a 
sense  of  solidarity.  If  this  work  is  continued  its  cumulative 
effect  upon  the  life,  especially  the  moral  life,  of  that  little  city 
will  in  the  end  be  tremendous.  Of  all  the  agencies  for  moral 
training  thus  far  described  this  seems  to  me  by  far  the  most 
effective."  1 

§  9.   MORAL  THOUGHTFULNESS 

In  the  college  and  the  university  and  to  a  certain  extent 
also  in  the  high  school  moral  instruction  and  criticism  become 
of  equal  importance  with  moral  training  and  personal  influ- 
ence. The  fundamental  ethical  attitudes  of  the  average  college 
student  have  been  formed.  It  is  now  rather  a  question 
of  subjecting  accepted  norms  to  critical  examination.  The 
problems  of  the  moral  life  must  be  approached  consciously 
and  reflectively.  Earlier  habits  will  serve  to  keep  the 
character  balanced  while  ethical  sanctions  are  under  the  fire 
of  criticism.  Furthermore,  the  academic  aloofness  of  the  col- 
lege student  and  the  absence  of  immediate  necessity  of  taking 
part  in  the  social  issues  give  leisure  for  reflection  and  for  the 
reformulation  of  ideals  if  necessary.  The  constant  emphasis 
by  writers  on  education  of  the  school  as  part  of  the  social 
order  and  of  school  life  as  the  actual  process  of  living  one's 
self  "  into  citizenship  "  must  be  materially  modified,  therefore, 
with  regard  to  college  and  university.  More  often  the  college 
career  is  a  process  of  living  one's  self  out  of  old  conven- 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  137  f. 


296     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

tional  ways  of  life.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
school  can  ever  rival  the  family  and  the  church  as  agencies 
for  moral  training.  They  are  natural  while  the  school  is  arti- 
ficial. The  school's  chief  role  lies  in  the  clarification  of  intel- 
ligence. The  church  and  the  family  will  ever  remain  society's 
chosen  agencies  for  cultivating  religious  and  moral  attitudes. 
The  end  sought  in  moral  instruction  in  college  and  university 
should  be  a  mature  moral  thoughtfulness  which  implies  the 
habit  of  subjecting  to  critical  analysis  all  ethical  questions. 
As  a  result  of  such  critical  analysis  the  second  characteristic 
of  moral  thoughtfulness  will  be  attained,  namely,  reasoned 
conviction.  By  far  the  larger  parts  of  our  beliefs  on  the  great 
issues  of  life  are  matters  of  convention  or  parts  of  the  social 
heritage  taken  over  uncritically  from  the  community.  The 
relation  to  our  lives,  therefore,  of  this  social  heritage,  in  so  far 
as  we  absorb  it  uncritically,  must  necessarily  be  somewhat 
arbitrary  and  accidental.  These  sanctions  do  not  become  parts 
of  our  lives  in  any  thoroughgoing  and  intelligent  fashion  until 
they  have  been  made  matters  of  reasoned  conviction. 

A  not  unimportant  result  of  moral  thoughtfulness  is  that 
through  it  we  get  the  moral  perspective  and  the  whole  point 
of  view.  The  note  of  relativity  is  writ  large  over  the  moral 
life  of  the  modern  American.  This  relativity  is  the  inevitable 
accompaniment  of  the  intensely  pragmatic  and  factual  char- 
acter of  our  national  life.  The  average  American,  says  Mr. 
Rodrigues  in  his  brilliant  analysis  of  American  life,  The 
People  of  Action,  has  no  thought-out  philosophy  of  life.  He 
lives  for  and  through  action.  His  ideals  are  not  arrived  at 
in  the  quiet  of  reflection  and  meditation.  They  are  struck 
out,  like  sparks,  white  hot  from  the  forge  of  action.  Hence 
the  elements  of  relativity,  of  adventitiousness  that  are  so 
conspicuous  in  American  society.  In  everything  there  is 
a  large  element  of  the  accidental,  in  the  plan  of  our  city 
streets,  in  the  architecture  of  our  homes,  in  our  educational 
systems,  in  business  or  politics  or  national  policies.  Nothing  is 
perhaps  so  needed  in  the  make  up  of  the  social  conscience  of 
the  average  American  community  as  habits  of  reflection.  As 


ACADEMIC  FREEDOM  297 

a  nation  we  have  yet  to  recognize  the  moral  obligation  of  being 
intelligent,  that  is  to  say,  of  seeing  life  steadily  and  seeing  it 
whole. 

The  scholar  and  the  higher  institutions  of  learning  have 
been  for  generations  society's  chosen  instruments  for  enlight- 
ening the  sentiments  of  men.  The  role  of  science  in  ration- 
alizing and  liberalizing  the  social  conscience  is  simply  incal- 
culable. The  social  dialectic  through  which  revolutionary 
ideas  such  as  the  helio-centric  astronomy  of  Galileo  or  the 
thesis  of  Darwin  have  gradually  become  embodied  in  the 
thought  and  life  of  the  average  man  is  not  the  least  interesting 
phase  of  the  advance  of  human  thought.  Viewed  pragmatically 
this  social  dialectic  seems  to  be  largely  a  struggle  between 
ideas,  the  "  logical  duels  "  made  so  much  of  by  Tarde,  those 
ideas  finally  surviving  that  best  meet  the  need  for  intellectual 
and  social  harmony.  A  more  intensive  analysis  perhaps  will 
show  that  what  we  have  is  a  constant  interplay  between  the 
innovations  or  particularizations  of  great  minds  and  the  slow 
process  of  generalizing  or  testing  out  these  ideas  by  the  masses 
of  men.  Moral  progress  thus  becomes  the  resultant  of  the 
individual  as  a  particularizing  force  and  of  society  as  a  general- 
izing force.  The  variations  or  new  points  of  departure  are 
provided  by  the  genius  while  the  test  of  the  truth  and  value 
of  these  new  ideas  is  found  in  the  ability  of  the  average  man 
to  make  them  part  and  parcel  of  his  daily  way  of  life.1 

§  10.   ACADEMIC  FREEDOM 

The  question  may  be  asked,  however,  what  is  to  safeguard 
college  and  university  in  the  exercise  of  their  function  as  culti- 
vators of  moral  thoughtfulness?  This  brings  us  face  to  face 
with  the  question  of  academic  freedom.  Academic  freedom 
has  three  phases,  first  the  right  of  the  school  as  society's  expert 
agent  to  determine  the  nature  and  scope  of  education,  secondly 

1  Accounts  of  the  effect  of  science  upon  the  sentiments  of  men  have 
been  given  by  Lecky,  History  of  the  Rise  and  Influence  of  the  Spirit  of 
Rationalism  in  Europe;  A.  D.  White,  The  History  of  the  Warfare  of 
Science  with  Theology;  Bury,  History  of  the  Freedom  of  Thought;  and 
Benn,  History  of  English  Rationalism  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


298     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

the  right  of  free  and  unrestricted  search  for  the  truth,  and 
thirdly  the  right  to  proclaim  that  truth.  Freedom  of  policy, 
freedom  of  investigation  and  freedom  of  teaching  are  all  but 
phases  of  the  larger  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  institution 
of  higher  learning  to  the  community  it  serves. 

Freedom  of  investigation  was  opposed  from  the  very  rise  of 
the  great  European  universities.  All  sorts  of  compromises 
were  attempted  such  as  restricting  discoveries  to  the  purely 
academic  sphere  and  forbidding  their  practical  applications. 
In  the  days  of  Galileo  and  Bacon  it  was  not  uncommon,  for 
example,  to  hold  that  what  was  true  for  science  or  philosophy 
was  not  true  for  theology.  More  recently  it  is  not  unheard  of 
to  find  the  principle  of  evolution  in  denominational  schools 
admitted  in  biology  or  geology  but  tabooed  in  psychology  or 
the  history  of  religion.  With  the  growing  emphasis  in  a  democ- 
racy upon  the  spread  of  knowledge  and  the  belief  that  in- 
creased efficiency  in  business  or  otherwise  is  a  matter  of  the 
application  of  scientific  principles  to  practical  problems,  all 
restrictions  upon  freedom  of  investigation  tend  to  disappear. 

The  cases  of  academic  freedom  that  attract  public  atten- 
tion turn  almost  without  exception  upon  the  question  of  free- 
dom of  teaching  rather  than  freedom  of  investigation.  It 
would  appear  strange  that  after  admitting  freedom  of  inves- 
tigation there  should  be  opposition  to  freedom  of  teach- 
ing. For  the  freedom  to  discover  the  truth  is  meaningless 
without  freedom  to  communicate  it  to  others.  But  freedom 
of  teaching  raises  many  practical  problems.  It  has  been  con- 
tended, for  example,  that  the  sudden  communication  of  new 
truth  to  the  masses  often  has  a  revolutionary  effect.  The 
stability  of  the  social  order  and  the  preservation  of  the  forms 
of  civilization,  it  is  argued,  are  after  all  of  more  immediate  prac- 
tical value  than  the  abstract  truth.  This  argument  influenced 
even  as  great  a  thinker  as  Descartes  and  made  him  withhold 
some  of  his  writings  from  publication. 

Freedom  of  teaching  is  sometimes  opposed  also  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  inimical  to  the  practical  needs  of  daily  life. 
The  average  man  or  woman  must  have  a  certain  body  of 


ACADEMIC  FREEDOM  299 

loyalties  that  are  accepted  unquestioningly  if  the  duties  of 
daily  life  are  to  be  met.  It  is  with  fear  and  trembling  there- 
fore that  many  parents  entrust  their  boys  and  girls  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  college  instructor.  His  insistence  upon 
akademische  Lehrfreiheit  und  Lernjreiheit  is  not  understood 
and  is -therefore  suspected.  His  critical  attitude  towards  con- 
ventional ethics  or  orthodox  theology  seems  a  useless  and  cruel 
disturbance  of  the  highest  and  holiest  loyalties.  The  average 
man  or  woman  following  the  prosaic  round  of  daily  life 
feels  no  imperative  obligation  to  submit  ultimate  spiritual  or 
moral  loyalties  to  a  searching  examination.  To  criticize  when 
action  is  constantly  necessary  is  to  paralyze  life  at  its  source. 
The  practical  problem  of  proclaiming  the  truth  after  it  has 
been  discovered  must  of  course  be  solved  in  the  interest  of  a 
progressive  social  order.  It  is  ultimately  a  question  of  devel- 
oping habits  of  reflection  and  of  poise  in  the  community  so 
that  the  truth  can  be  proclaimed  as  soon  as  discovered  and 
that  without  disrupting  the  social  order.  When  once  the  habit 
of  moral  thoughtfulness  has  become  general  among  a  people 
new  truth  or  radical  discoveries  are  disarmed  of  their  revolu- 
tionary effects.  Reason  is  the  best  safeguard  against  the 
radicalism  of  reason. 

The  question  of  academic  freedom  and  of  the  ability  of 
the  scholar  to  shape  the  social  conscience  of  the  future  is  ulti- 
mately a  question  of  the  status  of  the  teaching  profession.  To 
a  very  large  element  of  the  American  public  the  university 
instructor  has  no  status  worth  the  name.  He  is  considered  a 
member  of  an  institution  the  policy  of  which  he  does  not  shape 
and  towards  which  he  sustains  the  relation  of  a  hireling.  Out- 
side the  pale  of  some  of  our  oldest  institutions  the  scholar's 
position  in  this  country  is  hardly  ideal. 

The  problem  of  securing  to  the  teacher  freedom  and  an 
assured  and  respected  place  in  American  democracy  is  beset 
with  difficulties.  To  ensure  the  efficient  exercise  of  the  role 
of  investigator  and  censor  morum  there  must  exist  a  measure 
of  that  social  poise  that  comes  with  a  self-conscious  social 
order  and  the  accumulation  of  cultural  traditions.  American 


300     THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  CONSCIENCE 

democracy  has  as  yet  very  little  of  either.  We  have  been  so 
preoccupied  with  the  creation  of  the  material  basis  of  civili- 
zation that  we  have  had  little  time  or  inclination  for  culture 
or  critical  reflection.  It  is  to  be  feared  the  applause  that 
greets  the  Rev.  "  Billy  "  Sunday's  characterization  of  the  uni- 
versity scholar  as  "  an  intellectual  feather  duster  "  is  not  with- 
out its  social  significance. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  sympathies  of  the  American 
public  are  not  on  the  side  of  the  victim  when  some  academic 
auto-da-jl  occurs.  As  a  rule  they  are.  But  these  sympathies 
are  such  as  are  naturally  extended  to  one  engaged  in  a  struggle 
where  the  odds  are  against  him.  They  may  even  be  prompted 
by  a  vague  sense  of  justice  which  the  average  uninformed 
individual  feels  somehow  has  been  violated.  The  sympathies 
of  the  masses  in  such  cases  do  not  center  around  any  clear-cut 
notions  of  the  rights  of  the  individual  or  of  the  interests  he 
represents.  The  very  indefiniteness  of  the  scholar's  status 
makes  it  hard  to  grasp  the  ideals  for  which  he  contends. 
Hence  the  public  sentiment  aroused  in  his  behalf  is  dissipated 
because  of  the  lack  of  interpretation  and  rational  direction. 
This  is  inevitable  so  long  as  the  issues  involved  are  at  the 
mercy  of  the  well-meaning  but  uninformed  impulses  of  the 
community  at  large.  Public  sentiment  can  not  be  trusted  to 
make  sharp  distinctions  or  to  follow  with  patience  and  under- 
standing questions  that  demand  detailed  or  theoretical  knowl- 
edge. The  public  must  do  its  thinking  en  bloc.  Public 
opinion,  therefore,  in  order  to  be  effective  must  to  a  very  large 
extent  be  institutionalized.  It  must  find  expression  through 
chosen  groups  or  professions.  These  groups  must  themselves 
have  self -determining  power  in  the  process  of  shaping  the 
ideals  and  solving  the  problems  of  the  community. 

The  problem  of  academic  freedom  is,  then,  one  of  estab- 
lishing a  recognized  status  for  the  profession  of  the  teacher. 
Such  a  status  involves  well-defined  rights  and  duties,  which 
the  profession  itself  must  determine  in  its  own  interest  and 
in  the  interest  of  the  community  it  serves.  It  involves  also 
an  intelligent  understanding  by  the  community  of  what  those 


ACADEMIC  FREEDOM  301 

rights  and  duties  are  and  of  their  significance  for  the  com- 
munity itself;  in  a  democracy,  of  course,  rights  have  validity 
directly  in  proportion  to  the  extent  to  which  they  are  under- 
stood and  sanctioned  by  the  community. 

We  arrive,  therefore,  at  a  somewhat  paradoxical  conclusion, 
namely,  that  there  can  be  no  real  academic  freedom  except 
where  that  freedom  is  protected  by  the  state.  An  enlightened 
democracy  must  freely  and  generously  extend  to  its  schools 
and  its  scholars  not  only  the  right  to  discover  the  truth  and  to 
proclaim  it  freely  but  also  the  right  to  determine  what  phases 
of  truth  shall  be  taught  and  how.  Academic  freedom,  in 
other  words,  is  but  another  phase  of  the  problem  of  expert 
control,  through  which  alone  democracy  can  hope  to  solve  its 
complex  problems. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Books :  ADDAMS,  J. :  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  Ch.  VI ;  BETTS, 
G.  H. :  Social  Principles  of  Education,  1912 ;  BROWN,  E.  E. :  The  Making 
of  our  Middle  Schools,  1903;  BROWN,  S.  R. :  The  Secularisation  of 
American  Education,  1912;  BAGLEY,  W.  C. :  Educational  Values,  Chs.  1-6, 
15 ;  CHAPIN,  F.  S. :  "  Education  and  the  Mores."  Columbia  Studies  in 
Economics  and  Public  Law,  Vol.  43,  No.  2,  1911;  CUBBERLEY,  E.  P.: 
Changing  Conceptions  in  Education,  1909;  DEWEY,  JOHN:  The  School  and 
Society.  The  Ethical  Principles  Underlying  Education.  The  Educational 
Situation;  DEXTER,  E.  G. :  The  History  of  Education  in  the  United  States, 
1904 :  ELIOT,  C.  W. :  Educational  Reform,  1898 ;  GIDDINGS,  F.  H. :  Democ- 
racy and  Empire,  Chs.  13,  14;  HENDERSON,  E.  N. :  A  Text-Book  in  the 
Principles  of  Education,  Chs.  14-18;  JENKS,  T.  W. :  Citizenship  and  the 
Schools,  Chs.  i-5;  ROBBINS,  C.  L. :  The  School  as  a  Social  Institution, 
Chs.  2-10 ;  SHARP,  F.  C. :  Education  for  Character,  1917;  VINCENT,  G.  E. : 
The  Social  Mind  and  Education,  1897;  WARD,  L.  F.:  Dynamic  Sociology, 
Chs.  13,  14. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

§  i.   THE  NATURE  OF  THE  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

A  RIGHT  is  simply  a  way  of  acting,  of  developing  capacities  or 
of  exercising  functions,  that  is  sanctioned  by  the  moral  senti- 
ment of  the  community.  The  basis  of  all  rights,  therefore,  in- 
cluding that  of  private  property,  is  found  in  the  constraining 
sense  of  well-being  that  is  common  to  all  the  members  of  the 
group  among  whom  the  right  is  exercised.  The  distinction  of 
"  mine  "  and  "  thine  "  depends  not  so  much  upon  occupation 
as  upon  a  feeling  of  common  interest  that  is  furthered  and 
made  articulate  by  this  distinction.  The  idea  of  property  in 
so  far  as  it  has  any  ethical  element,  therefore,  and  is  not  meas- 
ured in  terms  of  the  good  old  rule  that  he  shall  take  who  has 
the  power  and  he  shall  keep  who  can,  presupposes  this  feeling 
of  common  interest.  Society  assures  to  each  of  its  members 
in  the  right  of  private  property  the  power  to  secure  and  exer- 
cise the  means  necessary  for  the  expansion  of  personality  and 
the  development  of  capacity  as  moral  creatures.  The  general 
will  that  provides  the  sanction  for  the  right  must  also  deter- 
mine the  scope  and  purpose  of  the  right.  It  must  be  exer- 
cised in  the  interest  of  the  social  good. 

The  fact  that  property  is  primarily  a  social  trust  condi- 
tions fundamentally  the  ethical  implications  of  property. 
For  to  exercise  the  right  of  property  as  a  social  trust  forces 
the  individual  to  reflect  upon  the  bearing  of  its  exercise 
upon  the  welfare  of  the  community  as  a  whole.  There 
arises  a  constant  need  for  correlating  the  laws  that  govern 
the  right  of  property  and  the  human  values  it  is  designed 
to  serve.  The  control  of  the  time,  the  talents  and  the 
persons  of  others  that  goes  with  the  right  of  property  must 

302 


NATURE  OF  THE  RIGHT  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY    303 

then  be  exercised  not  from  the  narrow  and  selfish  point 
of  view  of  the  individual's  own  immediate  interests  but  with 
an  eye  to  the  interests  of  that  larger  social  complex  of  which 
the  property  owner  and  his  employees  are  constituent  ele- 
ments. It  is  only  through  a  keen  sensitiveness  to  the  social 
values  always  associated  with  the  right  of  property  that  the 
institution  can  ever  play  the  role  it  should  play  as  society's 
chosen  instrument  for  the  discipline  and  development  of 
character. 

The  institution  of  private  property  must  be  emancipated 
from  the  moribund  legal  abstractions  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. It  must  cease  to  be  a  dead  juridical  entity  and  serve 
the  needs  of  a  progressive  society,  and  that  without  surrender- 
ing its  economic  or  ethical  value.  It  is  doubtless  true  that 
much  of  the  opposition  to  the  institution  of  private  prop- 
erty in  the  past  and  much  of  the  criticism  of  the  present  rest 
upon  outworn  ideas  of  its  character.  There  is  no  surer  way 
in  which  to  discredit  private  property  than  to  seek  its  justi- 
fication in  eighteenth  century  philosophy  or  even  in  the  arbi- 
trary deliverances  of  courts  and  the  rubrics  of  the  law.  These 
are  only  of  value  in  so  far  as  they  enjoy  the  moral  sanc- 
tion of  the  community.  Where  laws,  whether  dealing  with 
property  or  otherwise,  do  not  have  this  sanction  of  the  enlight- 
ened conscience  of  the  community,  they  are  already  in  process 
of  abrogation.  The  radical  easily  finds  support  for  his  attack 
upon  the  right  of  private  property  in  the  gap  that  has  arisen 
between  the  institution  as  it  actually  exists  and  the  demands 
of  the  enlightened  social  conscience  as  to  what  it  should  be. 
To  widen  that  gap  or  to  refuse  to  bridge  it  is  to  play  into  the 
hands  of  the  radical. 

The  real  safeguard  of  private  property,  therefore,  is  not  to 
be  found  in  the  provisions  of  the  Constitution  nor  in  the  judi- 
cial interpretations  of  that  great  document  by  learned  judges, 
but  in  a  sane  and  intelligent  adaptation  of  the  institution  to 
the  needs  of  the  community.  The  real  menace  to  private  prop- 
erty arises  from  an  arbitrary  and  unintelligent  use  of  it  con- 
trary to  the  demands  of  society  as  a  whole.  The  problem  of 


304  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

the  reformer  and  of  the  constructive  statesman  so  far  as  private 
property  is  concerned  is  the  problem  of  instilling  into  the  moral 
sentiment  of  the  community  firm  and  enlightened  convictions 
as  to  the  essentially  social  nature  of  property  and  the  funda- 
mental necessity  of  maintaining  and  utilizing  it  as  an  instru- 
ment for  liberating  the  energies  of  men  and  assuring  a  con- 
tented, well-balanced  and  progressive  national  life. 

§  2.   POSITION  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY  IN  AMERICAN  LIFE: 

The  various  ways  in  which  the  institution  of  private  prop- 
erty has  molded  the  moral  sentiments  of  the  American  people 
are  all  but  innumerable.  In  the  life  of  no  other  free  people 
has  the  institution  had  such  far-reaching  influence.  The  ante- 
cedents of  our  ethic  of  private  property  are  partly  religious, 
the  result  of  the  influence  of  the  principles  of  the  Protestant 
Reformation  upon  the  economic  liberalism  of  Puritan  England. 
They  are  partly  philosophical  and  legal.  The  doctrine  of 
property  as  a  natural  right,  championed  by  John  Locke  and 
finding  its  way  into  the  constitutions  and  bills  of  rights  of 
the  various  states,  is  now  part  of  the  organic  law  of  the 
nation.  The  courts  through  the  exercise  of  their  unique  posi- 
tion of  power  as  interpreters  of  the  law  have  handed  down 
decisions  that  still  further  strengthened  this  doctrine  of  private 
property.  Finally  the  great  emphasis  placed  upon  economic 
self-assertion  and  unrestricted  business  freedom  when  Ameri- 
cans were  laying  the  bases  of  material  greatness  during  the  last 
century  strengthened  still  further  the  position  of  private  prop- 
erty. We  have  little  or  no  evidence  that  the  institution  is 
losing  its  hold  upon  the  American  people.  "From  1750  to 
1850  ",  writes  Ely,  "  there  was  a  general  tendency  on  the  part 
of  private  property  to  become  more  extensive  and  also  more 
intensive.  During  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years  it  is  possible 
that  private  property  has  become  rather  less  extensive,  but  it 
is  not  certain  that  it  has  on  the  whole  lost  anything  in  inten- 
sity, having  now  lost  and  now  gained." x 

1  Property  and  Contract  in  their  Relations  to  the  Distribution  of 
Wealth,  I,  p.  60. 


PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  RELIGIOUS  TRADITIONS    305 

§  3.   PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  RELIGIOUS  TRADITIONS 

The  aim  of  the  English  dissenters  of  the  seventeenth 
century  was,  primarily,  religious  and  political  liberty.  They 
drew  their  inspiration  from  the  great  liberalizing  doctrines  of 
the  Reformation,  free  grace  and  justification  by  faith.  But 
the  fines  placed  upon  the  dissenters  by  Laud  and  the  Court 
of  High  Commission,  the  many  other  economic  handicaps  suf- 
fered because  of  their  faith  and  finally  the  struggle  against 
the  monopolies  under  the  Stuarts  forced  them  to  include  in 
the  fight  for  freedom  the  economic  as  well  as  the  religious 
and  political  spheres.  With  the  triumph  of  the  Puritans  Eng- 
land became  a  "  nation  of  shopkeepers."  The  large  capitalists 
of  the  earlier  part  of  the  century,  the  founders  of  colonies  and 
the  business  favorites  of  the  crown  were  now  superseded  by 
numerous  though  moderate  capitalists  of  the  middle  class 
who  laid  the  basis  for  the  modern  capitalistic  order.  From 
them  to  a  large  extent  have  come  our  ideas  of  private  property. 

We  have  indicated  in  earlier  chapters  how  the  religious 
incentive  to  the  careful  and  conscientious  exercise  of  the 
right  of  private  property  as  a  God-given  stewardship  assured 
a  more  or  less  social  attitude  since  the  glory  of  God  was 
usually  identified  with  the  common  weal.  But  with  the 
decline  of  religious  sanction,  that  can  be  traced  in  England 
towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  and  in  America  during 
the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  this  lofty  back- 
ground of  moral  responsibility  gradually  faded  out  into  the 
light  of  the  common  day.  Unfortunately  there  was  little 
possibility  of  compromise  between  the  noble  ethic  of  prop- 
erty preached  by  Richard  Baxter  and  the  thoroughly  secu- 
larized and  even  materialistic  conception  of  property  that 
became  dominant  with  the  growth  of  capitalism  and  the 
triumph  of  the  industrial  revolution.  In  the  place  of  this 
theistic  ethic  of  property  there  arose  an  ethic  of  property 
based  upon  a  militant  pecuniary  individualism  that  feared  not 
God  and  had  small  regard  for  the  man  who  was  not  able  to 
maintain  his  rights  in  a  competitive  order. 


306  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

Here  we  must  seek  the  explanation,  in  part  at  least,  of  the 
anti-social  note  that  has  often  characterized  the  large  property- 
holding  group.  For  this  group  has  drawn  its  ideas  as  to  prop- 
erty from  the  great  bourgeois  middle  class  capitalists  of  the 
England  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  with  their 
emphasis  of  unrestricted  competition  and  the  traditions  of  a 
vigorous  individualism  that  felt  itself  responsible  not  to  the 
community  but  to  God.  The  anti-social  and  materialistic  note 
of  the  modern  property-holder,  particularly  of  the  capitalistic 
group,  is  due,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  loss  of  these  earlier  re- 
ligious sanctions.  Hence  property  as  an  institution  has 
become  impersonal,  even  anti-social  with  "  its  assuredness  of 
purpose,  its  matter-of-factness,  its  economic  concentration,  its 
hatred  of  bureaucratic  leading-strings  and  interference  from 
above,  its  purely  economic  exploitation  of  the  individual,  and 
its  unemotional  standpoint  towards  all  the  problems  of  life, 
and  especially  towards  social  reforms  ".* 

§  4.   PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AS  A  NATURAL  RIGHT 

The  doctrine  of  private  property  as  a  natural  right  has 
found  its  way  directly  or  indirectly  into  almost  every  bill  of 
rights  and  state  constitution  of  the  nation,  thanks  to  the  preva- 
lent political  philosophy  of  a  century  and  more  ago.  It  was 
even  appealed  to  in  support  of  the  institution  of  slavery.  The 
constitution  of  the  state  of  Kentucky  of  1850  contains  this 
curious  statement:  "  The  right  of  property  is  before  and 
higher  than  any  constitutional  sanctions;  and  the  right  of  the 
owner  of  a  slave  to  such  a  slave,  and  its  increase,  is  the  same, 
and  as  inviolable  as  the  right  of  the  owner  of  any  property 
whatever  ".  There  is  no  better  illustration  of  the  inherent  con- 
tradictions in  this  doctrine  of  natural  rights  than  the  fact  that 
Charles  Sumner  also  made  use  of  it  with  telling  effect  in  his 
philippics  in  the  United  States  Senate  against  the  slave-power. 

The  doctrine  of  natural  rights  has  exercised  a  profound 
influence  upon  our  conceptions  of  private  property.  In  its 
most  modern  form  it  insists  that  property  is  indispensable  to 

JLevy,  op.  cit,,  p.  in. 


PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  THE  CONSTITUTION    307 

man's  individual  development  and  the  attainment  of  liberty. 
Without  the  dominion  over  things  he  is  a  slave.  It  is  in  the 
free  creative  expression  of  his  powers  that  man  achieves  per- 
sonality and  freedom.  Property  is  but  the  external  form  of 
this  inherent  and  necessary  law  of  human  nature.  Hence 
property  is  a  natural  right  independent  of  the  laws  and  insti- 
tutions of  men.  This  same  hoary  doctrine  of  natural  rights 
underlies  much  of  the  thinking  of  to-day.  It  is  at  the  basis 
of  the  reasoning  of  a  book  that  has  exercised  a  profound 
influence  upon  the  minds  of  many  in  regard  to  the  right  of 
property  in  land,  namely,  Progress  and  Poverty  by  Henry 
George.  For  a  brilliant  criticism  of  this  book  and  incidentally 
the  application  of  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  argument  to  the 
doctrine  of  natural  rights  we  are  indebted  to  Huxley.1 

§  5.   PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  THE  CONSTITUTION 

While  the  doctrine  of  property  as  a  natural  right  is  not  dis- 
tinctly enunciated  in  the  Constitution  yet,  as  Professor  Beard 
has  shown,  that  famous  historical  instrument  is  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  an  economic  document.  It  was  economic  not  in 
the  sense  of  aiming  primarily  at  the  protection  of  property 
interests  but  because  the  men  who  formulated  its  principles, 
especially  Madison  and  Hamilton,  realized  that  only  through 
the  support  of  the  property  interests  could  national  unity  be 
attained.  Hamilton  especially  saw  that  it  was  only  possible 
to  offset  the  decentralizing  influence  of  the  states  and  to  create 
an  adequate  central  government  by  securing  the  loyal  support 
of  the  various  property  interests.  He  had,  therefore,  no  illu- 
sions as  to  the  end  the  Constitution  sought.  It  was  an  attempt 
to  organize  these  more  or  less  inchoate  property  interests  and 
to  consolidate  them  in  support  of  national  unity,  and  in  this 
he  succeeded.  If  thereby  he  was  forced  to  give  to  private 
property  a  place  of  power  and  of  privilege  which  was  destined 
a  century  later  to  offer  serious  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the 
growth  of  a  socialized  and  industrialized  democracy,  this  was 

1<(  Natural  and  Political  Rights,"  The  Nineteenth  Century,  Vol.  28, 
pp.  I74f- 


3o8  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

nothing  more  than  the  price  that  had  to  be  paid  in  the  perilous 
days  of  1787  for  the  attainment  of  national  unity  and  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  ideals  of  freedom  that  inspired  the  war  for 
independence. 

The  conservative  attitude  of  the  property-holding  group  is 
reflected  in  the  Fifth  Amendment  of  the  Constitution,  "  No 
person  .  .  .  shall  be  deprived  of  life,  liberty,  or  property, 
without  due  process  of  law;  nor  shall  private  property  be  taken 
for  public  use,  without  just  compensation  ".  By  a  curious 
turn  of  fortune,  a  later  famous  Amendment,  the  Fourteenth, 
designed  to  be  the  Magna  Charta  of  the  emancipated  negro, 
became  the  bulwark  of  private  property  under  the  form  of 
great  inter-state  corporations  against  the  legislative  restric- 
tions of  the  various  states.  This  Amendment  made  it  possible 
to  challenge  all  such  legislation  on  the  ground  that  it  violated 
the  constitutional  regulation,  "  No  state  shall  make  or  enforce 
any  law  which  shall  abridge  the  privileges  or  immunities  of 
citizens  of  the  United  States;  nor  shall  any  state  deprive  any 
person  of  life,  liberty  or  property  without  due  process  of 
law  ". 

The  "  almost  impregnable  constitutional  position  ",  which, 
according  to  President  Hadley,  private  property  has  come  to 
occupy  in  this  country,  has  been  strengthened  by  the  role 
played  by  the  courts.  The  famous  system  of  "  checks  and 
balances  "  introduced  by  the  founders  of  the  nation  to  prevent 
usurpation  of  power  by  any  one  branch  of  the  government  has 
resulted  in  making  the  courts,  and  especially  the  Supreme 
Court,  the  final  arbiter  of  disputes  and  the  guardian  of  the 
rights  of  minorities  and  of  individuals.  The  status  of  private 
property  depends  in  the  last  analysis  upon  the  decisions  of  the 
judges  who  sit  upon  the  supreme  bench.  They  are  not  free 
to  interpret  the  rights  of  property  in  terms  of  a  social  or  eco- 
nomic philosophy  derived  from  the  needs  of  the  given  stage  of 
economic  evolution.  They  must  decide  whether  a  given  law 
affecting  property  rights  is  in  harmony  with  the  idea  of  prop- 
erty that  has  been  laid  down  in  the  organic  law  of  the  land, 
namely,  the  Constitution.  That  is,  they  are  forced  to  abide 


PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  THE  CONSTITUTION    309 

by  a  conception  of  private  property  that  is  derived  from  the 
prevailing  philosophy  of  over  a  century  ago.  Much  of  the 
criticism  that  is  levelled  against  the  courts  and  even  against 
the  Supreme  Court  fails  to  take  into  account  that  it  is  this 
earlier  individualistic  conception  of  the  right  of  property, 
firmly  embedded  in  our  legal  traditions,  rather  than  any 
prejudice  of  the  courts  in  favor  of  property  interests  that 
influences  their  decisions. 

It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  in  its  decisions  the  Supreme 
Court  has  tended  to  strengthen  the  "  almost  impregnable  con- 
stitutional position  "of  property  in  this  country.  Chief  Jus- 
tice Marshall  handed  down  in  the  famous  Dartmouth  College 
case  of  1819  a  decision  the  tendency  of  which  was  to  regard 
a  charter  as  a  contract  that  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
inviolable.  There  has  been  a  tendency,  to  be  sure,  on  the  part 
of  the  Supreme  Court  to  break  away  in  its  later  decisions  from 
the  precedent  laid  down  in  this  case.  But  it  is  not  difficult 
to  trace  back  to  the  influence  of  this  decision  the  legislative 
difficulties  experienced  in  changing  or  abrogating  franchise 
rights,  especially  in  the  case  of  public  utility  corporations. 

In  1882  a  case  appealed  to  the  Supreme  Court  from  Cali- 
fornia under  the  clause  of  the  Fourteenth  Amendment  that 
forbids  the  depriving  of  a  person  of  property  "  without  due 
process  of  law  "  a  decision  was  handed  down  that  fixed  the 
status  of  a  corporation  as  a  legal  person  with  all  the  rights 
and  immunities  of  a  natural  person.  In  the  light  of  these 
facts  President  Hadley  makes  this  rather  interesting  state- 
ment: "The  fact  is  that  private  property  in  the  United 
States,  in  spite  of  all  the  dangers  of  unintelligent  legisla- 
tion, is  constitutionally  in  a  stronger  position,  as  against 
the  Government  and  the  Government  authority,  than  is  the 
case  in  any  country  of  Europe.  However  much  public  feeling 
may  at  times  move  in  the  direction  of  socialistic  measures, 
there  is  no  nation  which  by  its  constitution  is  so  far  removed 
from  socialism  or  from  a  socialistic  order.  This  is  partly  be- 
cause the  governmental  means  provided  for  the  control  or 
limitation  of  private  property  are  weaker  in  America  than 


3io  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

elsewhere,  but  chiefly  because  the  rights  of  private  property 
are  more  formally  established  in  the  Constitution  itself ". 

§  6.   PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  INDUSTRIAL  DEVELOPMENT 

The  hold  of  the  institution  of  private  property  upon 
American  life  has  been  still  further  intensified  through  un- 
paralleled industrial  development.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
last  century  the  immediate  problem  before  the  American 
people  was  that  of  laying  broad  and  secure  the  economic 
basis  for  a  civilization.  This  task  was  made  all  the  easier 
by  a  Constitution  that  placed  the  rights  of  private  prop- 
erty in  an  impregnable  position  and  by  the  freedom  of  per- 
sonal initiative  encouraged  by  federal  as  well  as  local  gov- 
ernments. All  classes  were  thus  stimulated  to  devote  their 
powers  to  economic  achievement.  Wealth  became  to  a  very 
large  extent  the  sign  of  progress,  the  measure  of  social  values. 
Private  property  was  the  badge  of  social  worth,  the  key  to 
political  power  and  social  prestige.  The  result  was  the  crea- 
tion of  what  is  perhaps  the  most  striking  phase  of  the  institu- 
tion of  private  property  in  this  country,  our  American  plutoc- 
racy. This  group  has  been  defined  as  "  a  more  or  less  fluctu- 
ating group  of  very  wealthy  men,  loosely  united  (primarily 
by  pecuniary  bonds)  who,  through  their  wealth  and  prestige, 
and  through  the  allegiance  of  like-minded  but  poorer  men, 
exert  an  enormous,  if  not  preponderating,  influence  over  in- 
dustry, politics,  and  public  opinion  ". 

The  disciplinary  effect  of  the  institution  of  private  prop- 
erty, as  represented  by  the  triumphant  plutocracy  of  the  last 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century,  upon  the  thought  and 
life  of  the  average  American  can  scarcely  be  exaggerated. 
Through  a  marvellous  system  of  industrial  organization  they 
not  only  dominated  the  economic  life  of  the  nation  but  for  a 
while  they  even  dictated  its  political  policies.  The  ideals,  tradi- 
tions, habits  of  life  of  this  group  permeated  every  phase  of 
American  society.  Its  standard  of  ethics  was  acknowledged 
by  the  millions  of  small  property-holders  whose  economic  exist- 
ence depended  upon  the  will  of  some  financial  magnate.  Even 


SOCIAL  STRATIFICATION  311 

the  propertyless  class,  including  the  skilled  and  unskilled 
worker,  approached  all  economic  problems  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  regnant  plutocracy.  This  has  been  pointed  out 
in  brilliant  fashion  by  Veblen  in  his  Theory  of  the  Leisure 
Class. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  property  has  ever 
completely  dominated  the  social  conscience  of  the  American 
people.  To  a  large  extent  the  institution  of  property  has 
served  the  ends  of  democracy.  It  has  liberated  the  capacities 
of  men  who  with  infinite  toil  developed  the  natural  resources 
of  a  continent  and  laid  the  material  basis  for  a  new  civiliza- 
tion. In  this  free,  creative  self-expression,  in  this  mastery 
over  nature  men  also  achieved  a  spirit  of  sturdy  independence 
and  a  love  of  liberty  that  are  among  the  most  precious  tradi- 
tions of  America.  But  the  general  tendency  was  to  make  of 
property  more  an  end  than  a  means. 

The  entrenched  position  of  property  in  American  life 
has  not  been  without  its  evil  effects.  Where  legal  tradi- 
tions tend  to  view  property  as  an  inalienable  and  unalter- 
able right  the  inevitable  tendency  is  to  neglect  the  social 
side  of  property.  The  individual  is  taught  to  look  upon  the 
right  of  property  as  absolute — dominium  est  jus  utendi  et 
abutendi  re,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Roman  law.  The  ethic  of 
the  dealer  who  destroys  food  supplies  to  keep  up  the  price 
rests  upon  the  assumption  that  the  right  of  property  includes 
not  only  the  power  to  use  but  to  waste,  to  dispose  of  abso- 
lutely. A  generation  or  so  ago,  when  the  resources  of  the 
country  seemed  unlimited  and  the  utmost  freedom  of  indi- 
vidual endeavor  was  encouraged,  the  weakness  of  such  an  ethic 
was  not  felt.  To-day  in  a  highly  mutualized  order,  with  dis- 
appearing natural  resources  and  increased  human  needs,  the 
responsibilities  of  the  property-owner  are  fast  undergoing  an 
ethical  transformation. 

§  7.   PRIVATE  PROPERTY  AND  SOCIAL  STRATIFICATION 

The  traditional  ethic  of  private  property  as  a  right  that  is 
unalterable  and  inalienable  and  hence  absolute,  has  implica- 


3i2  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

tions  of  the  utmost  importance  for  the  relations  of  men  to 
each  other  in  our  complicated  modern  industrial  order.  In 
every  office,  shop,  store  or  mill  we  see  certain  individuals 
giving  orders  and  others  obeying  these  orders.  If  we  ask 
ourselves  what  is  the  basis  of  this  authority  by  which  one 
man  or  a  group  of  men  dispose  of  the  time,  physical  and 
mental  energy  of  thousands  of  their  fellowmen  almost  at 
will,  we  can  hardly  say  that  the  law  compels  this  obedience. 
They  are  not  beasts  of  burden  nor  human  chattels;  legally 
they  are  the  free  citizens  of  a  democracy.  Wherein,  then, 
does  this  authority  lie?  The  seat  of  this  authority  is 
undoubtedly  to  be  found  in  the  right  of  private  property. 
The  state  gives  to  the  owner  of  property  power  over  the 
lives  and  activities  of  his  fellows,  not  in  order  that  they 
may  be  selfishly  and  injuriously  exploited  but  on  the  sup- 
position that  in  the  long  run  this  is  the  best  way  in  which  to 
develop  natural  resources,  create  economic  goods,  provide 
employment  for  men  and  further  the  welfare  of  society.  That 
is,  this  power  over  others  by  virtue  of  the  possession  of 
property  is  a  social  trust  and  is  safeguarded  only  on  the  sup- 
position that  it  is  exercised  as  such. 

Unfortunately  the  doctrine  of  property  as  an  absolute 
right  does  not  conduce  to  the  social  exercise  of  the  vast 
power  it  gives.  Where  this  sense  of  social  responsibility 
is  lacking  the  results  are  often  unfortunate.  "  It  creates  the 
master  and  servant,  employer  and  employee,  vested  interest, 
and  landless  proletariat  relationship — a  situation  in  which 
submission  is  at  present  essential  to  the  earning  of  a  liveli- 
hood. With  absolutism  of  control  in  the  ordinary  non-union 
large-scale  shop  corporations  have  been  able  to  rely  upon 
the  meekness  of  disposition  among  workers  to  '  get  away 
with  '  the  rules  imposed  and  disciplinary  methods  used.  When 
we  recall  that  the  management  hires,  promotes,  discharges, 
demotes,  decides  hours  and  wages  without  interference  when- 
ever it  can,  we  may  realize  that  the  '  Nemesis  of  Docility ' 
is  at  hand.  And  what  makes  matters  worse  is  that  sub- 
mission on  one  hand  fosters  domination  on  the  other  until 


SOCIAL  STRATIFICATION  313 

a  theory  has  developed  and  is  openly  supported  by  many 
employers  that  a  benevolent  but  firm  despotism  is  the  secret 
of  successful  factory  management.  And  as  a  temporary  ex- 
pedient the  theory  is  unfortunately  all  too  true.  The  rub 
comes  .  .  .  when  the  workers  have  been  cared  for  long 
enough  to  store  up  energy  and  be  filled  with  disgust  at  pa- 
ternalism ".1 

The  attempt  has  been  made  to  sketch  in  somewhat  biting 
phrases  the  outline  of  a  new  feudalism  suggested  by  this 
absolute  ethic  of  private  property.  "  It  is  a  feudalism  ",  we 
are  told,  "  somewhat  graced  by  a  sense  of  ethics  and  some- 
what restrained  by  a  fear  of  democracy.  The  new  barons 
seek  a  public  sanction  through  conspicuous  giving,  and  they 
avoid  a  too  obvious  exercise  of  their  power  upon  political  in- 
stitutions. Their  beneficence,  however,  though  large,  is 
rarely  prodigal.  It  betokens,  as  in  the  case  of  the  careful 
spouse  of  John  Gilpin,  a  frugal  mind.  They  demand  the  full 
terms  nominated  in  the  bond;  they  exact  from  the  traffic  all 
that  it  will  bear.  .  .  .  They  are  never  given,  even  by  accident, 
to  any  of  the  movements  making  for  the  correction  of  what  re- 
formers term  injustice.  But  not  to  look  too  curiously  into 
motives,  our  new  Feudalism  is  at  least  considerate.  It  is 
a  paternal,  a  Benevolent  Feudalism  ".2 

It  is  not  difficult  to  point  out  where  this  writer,  like  all 
of  his  class,  exaggerates  for  the  sake  of  literary  and  dramatic 
effect.  On  the  whole,  however,  he  has  set  forth  in  striking 
fashion  a  phase,  and  we  trust  a  passing  phase,  of  the  disci- 
plinary effect  of  the  traditional  ethic  of  private  property 
upon  the  minds  of  men,  especially  among  large  property- 
holders.  There  is  evidence  also  that  it  is  not  wholly  without 
a  basis  of  fact.  In  a  letter  of  July  17,  1902,  Mr.  George  F. 
Baer,  President  of  the  Philadelphia  and  Reading  Railroad, 
used  the  following  language:  "  I  beg  of  you  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged. The  rights  and  interests  of  the  laboring  man  will 
be  protected  and  cared  for — not  by  labor  agitators,  but  by 

1  Ordway  Tead,  Instincts  in  Industry,  p.  125. 

2  W.  J.  Ghent,  Our  Benevolent  Feudalism,  pp.  9,  10. 


3i4  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

the  Christian  men  to  whom  God  in  his  infinite  wisdom  has 
given  the  control  of  the  property  interests  of  the  country,  and 
upon  the  successful  management  of  which  so  much  depends  ". 

§  8.  TENDENCY  TO  IDENTIFY  PROPERTY  WITH  OWNERSHIP 

As  a  result  of  its  highly  institutionalized  position  in  Ameri- 
can life,  property  has  tended  to  become  a  static  rather  than  a 
dynamic  thing.  Property  exists  to  be  owned;  its  significance  is 
largely  exhausted  in  the  relation  of  ownership.  It  seldom  occurs 
to  the  man  on  the  street  that  a  piece  of  valuable  unimproved 
property  in  the  heart  of  the  city  is  any  less  property  because  it 
serves  no  creative  purpose.  Its  status  as  property  is  fixed  by 
the  legal  relation  it  sustains  to  some  owner,  not  in  the  extent 
to  which  it  liberates  human  activities  or  enriches  the  com- 
munity life.  Even  institutions  such  as  churches  and  univer- 
sities, dealing  with  the  intangible  intellectual  and  spiritual 
values,  must  be  owned  by  trustees  before  they  can  have  in- 
stitutional reality.  Ownership  is  the  measure  of  existence. 

The  idea  of  ownership  as  constituting  the  essence  of  prop- 
erty may  be  pushed  to  such  an  extreme  that  it  becomes  down- 
right anti-social  in  spirit  and  intent.  Property  is  that  which 
is  essentially  private.  It  is  my  own  just  to  the  extent  to  which 
I  succeed  in  keeping  its  use  from  being  shared  by  others. 
This  is  the  implication  of  the  sign  one  often  meets  on  unoc- 
cupied and  unimproved  property,  "  Private  property,  no  thor- 
oughfare ".  This  thrusts  into  one's  face,  as  the  very  essence 
of  the  right  of  private  property,  that  it  is  exclusive,  selfish, 
and  antagonistic  to  all  that  is  social  or  shared  in  common.  It 
is  this  narrow  spirit  that  stirs  the  opponent  of  private  prop- 
erty and  makes  him  see  in  it  the  avowed  enemy  of  the  com- 
munity. 

An  implication  of  an  ethic  of  private  property  that  stresses 
ownership  is  that  what  cannot  be  owned  is  worthless,  unreal, 
negligible.  The  permanent  values  are  associated  with  those 
things  that  can  be  bartered  for,  subjected  to  fixed  legal  rela- 
tions of  ownership.  Now  it  so  happens  that  the  most  pre- 
cious possessions  of  the  race  are  just  those  that  cannot  be 


TENDENCY  TO  IDENTIFY  PROPERTY  315 

owned  in  the  legal  business  sense.  The  poetry  of  Homer,  the 
philosophy  of  Plato,  the  great  Gothic  cathedrals,  the  master- 
pieces of  Shakespeare,  Goethe  or  Moliere,  the  creations  of 
Bach  and  Beethoven  belong  to  the  race.  Who  would  be 
so  ridiculous  as  to  talk  of  sustaining  relations  of  legal  owner- 
ship to  the  religious  ideas  of  Jesus  or  John  Wesley?  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  monopoly  of  ownership  in  the  highest 
and  best  things.  In  fact,  we  can  only  enjoy  them  by  sharing 
them.  Our  glorification  of  ownership  must  be  content  with 
the  cruder  and  coarser  goods  of  life.  We  may  have  a  trust 
in  oil,  hardly  a  trust  in  religion,  science  or  art. 

The  scale  of  values  created  by  the  ethic  of  ownership  tends 
to  take  precedence  over  the  intangible  higher  values  to  which 
we  do  homage  in  our  better  moments.  Only  slowly  did  rights 
dealing  with  intellectual  property  find  formulation  in  laws 
governing  plagiarism,  copyright,  and  the  like.  With  the 
average  man  it  is  still  a  much  more  serious  offense  to  filch  a 
man's  pocketbook  than  to  filch  his  ideas.  How  little  those 
subtle  spiritual  rights  associated  with  academic  freedom  ap- 
peal to  the  average  man!  The  strength  of  the  scientific  con- 
science of  the  scholar  or  investigator  cannot  be  reduced  to 
dollars  and  cents  and  hence  it  is  a  negligible  matter. 

There  are  other  rights  such  as  the  right  to  be  well-born, 
the  right  to  civic  cleanliness  recognized  by  ancient  Rome,  the 
right  to  a  minimum  wage  or  to  an  assured  income  among 
those  classes  whose  economic  margin  is  small,  that  have  been 
discouragingly  slow  in  gaining  a  place  in  the  social  conscience. 
The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  discipline  of  the  ethic 
of  private  property  has  dulled  the  sensibilities  of  men  to  these 
things.  The  right  to  work  (droit  du  travail)  or  the  right  to 
sell  one's  labor  in  the  best  market  harmonizes  with  the  ethic 
of  property;  the  right  to  work  (droit  au  travail}  or  the  right 
to  steady  employment  conflicts  with  the  ethic  of  property  and 
has  been  opposed.  The  right  of  the  child  to  live  its  life  gladly, 
freely,  and  healthfully  is  a  remote  and  intangible  good  as  com- 
pared with  the  time-honored  and  legally  entrenched  property 
rights  of  the  mill-owner  that  are  restricted  by  child  labor 


316  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

legislation.  The  large  property  owner  is  asked  to  substitute 
for  the  immediate  tangible  goods  of  profits  on  investment  the 
intangible  human  values  of  a  more  enlightened  and  efficient 
citizenship.  These  things,  however,  do  not  have  a  market 
value.  They  belong  to  the  "  imponderables "  that  cannot 
be  owned,  bought,  sold.  For  similar  reasons  municipal  regu- 
lations that  look  to  cleaner  streets,  decent  tenements,  efficient 
car  service,  though  of  acknowledged  importance,  are  distress- 
ingly slow  of  attainment  because  they  are  opposed  by  a  social 
conscience  that  thinks  in  terms  of  the  ethic  of  private  prop- 
erty. 

The  pressure  of  the  ethic  of  ownership  is  producing  some 
interesting  alignments  among  social  groups.  It  is  aligning 
the  average  enlightened  propertyless  citizen  with  his  vote 
against  the  property  owner  with  his  constitutional  safeguards 
for  property.  This  alignment  has  not  been  consciously  made 
for  the  most  part  because  the  average  propertyless  American  is 
not  opposed  to  the  institution  of  private  property.  He  is  not 
ready  to  say  of  private  property,  as  Voltaire  and  the  fore- 
runners of  the  French  Revolution  said  of  the  church,  ^eraser 
I'injame,  But  all  who  are  struggling  for  a  more  progressive 
democracy  have  been  forced  inevitably  into  the  group  opposed 
to  the  privileged  position  of  private  property.  The  average 
man  often  finds  that  his  legitimate  efforts  after  a  richer  ex- 
pansion of  his  powers,  his  worthy  desire  for  a  social  order  in 
which  a  larger  number  of  men  and  women  can  enter  fully 
and  intensively  into  the  enjoyment  of  those  things  that  make 
for  a  better  world,  is  checked  by  private  property.  .  He  then 
begins  to  wonder  whether  we  have  not  reached  a  stage  of 
social  evolution  in  which  the  demands  made  upon  property 
are  no  longer  fully  met  by  the  traditional  ideas.  The  highly 
favored  position  held  by  private  property  in  American  insti- 
tutions serves  only  to  make  men  all  the  more  sensitive 
to  its  failure  to  adjust  itself  to  the  demands  of  a  new 
day.  The  stubborn  and  in  the  main  the  successful  resistance 
private  property  has  offered  to  this  rising  tide  of  democracy 
has  affected  the  development  of  the  social  conscience  itself. 


INSTRUMENTALITIES  FOR  SOCIALIZING  317 

It  has  forced  men  to  find  the  satisfaction  of  their  democratic 
needs  along  lines  least  antagonistic  to  private  property,  such 
as  the  extension  of  the  suffrage,  the  spread  of  public  educa- 
tion, the  alleviation  of  suffering  through  philanthropy,  and  the 
democratizing  of  art.  Any  move  looking  towards  industrial 
democracy  has  met  with  stubborn  opposition  owing  to  the 
prevailing  ethic  of  private  property. 

§  9.   INSTRUMENTALITIES  FOR  SOCIALIZING  PRIVATE  PROPERTY. 

The  method  of  procedure  of  the  acquisitive  instinct  under- 
lying ownership  is  entirely  logical,  though  it  may  seem 
harsh,  materialistic  and  blind  to  the  other  nobler  creative  im- 
pulses of  the  human  heart.  It  seeks  to  acquire  what  is  its  due 
and  to  retain  what  is  not  its  due,  for  the  principle  of  acquisi- 
tion works  in  one  direction  only.  To  yield  to  the  demands  of 
social  justice  or  to  gratify  the  more  socially  valuable  creative 
impulses  would  decrease  owning  power.  In  this  ethic  whatever 
makes  for  possession  is  good  and  whatever  militates  against 
possession  is  evil.  There  are  no  sentimental  illusions,  no 
waste  of  time  and  energy,  no  idealistic  dreams.  If  we  quarrel 
with  such  an  ethic  we  should  remember  that  it  is  not  inherent 
in  the  nature  of  the  institution  of  private  property  which  is 
intrinsically  neither  good  nor  bad.  Our  quarrel  should  be  with 
the  social  situation,  the  traditions  and  habits  of  thought  that 
make  such  an  ethic  of  property  possible.  The  problem  is 
really  one  of  creating  a  new  social  conscience  inspired  by  a 
deeper  insight  into  the  meaning  of  property  itself,  a  conscience 
which  realizes  that  private  property  is  a  social  trust.  The 
question  arises,  how  is  this  to  be  done  without  a  radical  de- 
parture from  American  traditions?  To  this  query  the  natural 
reply  is  that  we  have  a  remedy  ready  at  hand,  namely,  taxa- 
tion. 

The  ethical  justification  of  taxation  lies  in  the  fact  so- 
ciety realizes  that  all  the  social  instrumentalities  for  progress, 
such  as  health  regulations,  welfare  bureaus,  scientific  school 
systems,  are  most  important  factors  in  the  creation  of  the 
wealth  of  the  community.  There  is  a  very  real  sense  in  which 


3i8  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

the  building  of  streets,  the  improvement  of  car  service,  the 
providing  of  good  water,  the  safeguarding  of  child  life,  and  even 
those  more  intangible  movements  for  the  Americanization  of 
the  immigrant  or  the  cultivation  of  civic  spirit  actually  add  to 
the  value  of  the  private  property  of  individuals  who  are  often 
indifferent,  sometimes  antagonistic  to  these  things.  The  com- 
munity that  assures  through  its  schools  and  health  department 
a  body  of  strong,  intelligent,  and  contented  laborers  for  the 
mill-operator  has  actually  contributed  no  small  factor  to  his 
wealth-producing  facilities,  for  which  there  is  no  specific 
return  except  in  taxes. 

If  we  take  the  broad  social  point  of  view  as  to  the 
origin  and  nature  of  property  suggested  by  the  ethics  of 
taxation,  we  must  question  the  absolute  right  of  private 
property  as  over  against  the  rights  of  the  community.  These 
rights,  together  with  all  others,  originate  in  the  state,  and 
to  the  state  and  community  they  must  look  for  their  sanc- 
tion. The  community  with  its  vast  complex  of  institutions 
provides  the  individual  with  many  varied  instrumentalities 
for  the  development  of  his  powers,  one  among  them  being  the 
right  of  private  property.  Because  the  community  makes 
possible  these  forms  of  individual  achievement  it  demands  the 
right  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  the  individual  in  the  prosecution 
of  his  ends.  It  can  determine  the  methods  by  which  wealth  is 
accumulated  and  it  can  also  direct  how  that  wealth  shall  be 
expended  where  such  expenditure  is  of  vital  concern  for  the 
welfare  of  the  community. 

There  is  another  striking  illustration  of  the  social  nature 
of  property  in  the  right  of  eminent  domain.  This  has  been 
defined  by  the  Supreme  Court  as  "  the  ultimate  right  of  the 
sovereign  power  to  appropriate,  not  only  the  public  property, 
but  the  private  property  of  all  citizens  within  the  territorial 
sovereignty,  to  public  uses." *  This  fundamental  right  of 
society  in  the  land  is  probably  to  be  traced  back  to  an 
earlier  undifferentiated  stage  when  all  land  was  held  in 
common.  We  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  this  right 

1  Charles  River  Bridge  v.  Warren  Bridge,  n  Peters,  420  (1837). 


INSTRUMENTALITIES  FOR  SOCIALIZING          319 

has  been  repudiated  or  could  be  neglected  by  society 
without  endangering  its  vital  interests.  This  fact  has  also 
been  cogently  stated  by  another  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court. 
"  No  society  has  ever  admitted  that  it  could  not  sacrifice  in- 
dividual welfare  to  its  own  existence.  If  conscripts  are  neces- 
sary for  its  army,  it  seizes  them,  and  marches  them,  with 
bayonets  in  their  rear,  to  death.  It  runs  highways  and  rail- 
ways through  old  family  places  in  spite  of  the  owner's  pro- 
test, paying  in  this  instance  the  market  value,  to  be  sure,  be- 
cause no  civilized  government  sacrifices  the  individual  more 
than  it  can  help,  but  still  sacrifices  his  will  and  his  welfare  to 
that  of  the  rest  'V 

Perhaps  the  best  illustration  of  the  social  character  of 
property  is  to  be  found  in  the  attempts  to  regulate  prop- 
erty rights  through  an  appeal  to  the  police  power.  This  vague 
term  means  primarily  the  right  of  the  community  to  secure 
order,  suppress  crime  and  violence,  and  protect  life  and  prop- 
erty. This  cruder  and  more  obvious  sense  was  gradually  ex- 
panded so  that  the  police  power  now  includes  not  only  the 
right  of  the  state  to  prevent  crime  and  violence  but  also 
the  right  to  take  the  more  positive  measures  that  have  to 
do  with  the  health,  happiness,  economic  welfare,  and  en- 
lightenment of  its  citizens.  In  some  states,  as  in  modern 
Germany,  the  police  power  has  absorbed  almost  the  entire 
life  of  the  community,  political,  economic,  and  even  cul- 
tural. That  this  power  is  of  recognized  importance  even  in 
our  individualistic  social  order  has  been  recognized  by  the 
courts.  In  the  famous  Slaughter  House  Cases  (1872),  the 
Supreme  Court  made  the  following  deliverance:  "  The  power 
(police  power)  is,  and  must  be,  from  its  very  nature,  incapable 
of  any  very  exact  definition  or  limitation.  Upon  it  depends  the 
security  of  the  social  order,  the  life  and  health  of  the  citizen, 
the  comfort  of  an  existence  in  a  thickly  populated  community, 
the  enjoyment  of  private  and  social  life,  and  the  beneficial  use 
of  property  ". 

It  would  appear,  then,  that  the  use  of  the  police  power  in 

1  Holmes,  The  Common  Law,  p,  43. 


320  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

the  regulation  of  property  rights  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  concrete  application  of  a  principle  fundamental  to  the  spirit 
of  American  law.  This  principle  is  that  all  property  is  ac- 
quired, and  the  right  to  its  enjoyment  and  use  is  guaranteed,  on 
the  assumption  that  this  right  conduces  to  the  general  welfare 
of  the  community  and  does  not  injure  or  invalidate  the  rights 
of  others.  More  important  still,  however,  for  the  social  nature 
of  the  institution  of  property  is  the  fact  that  of  recent  years 
the  courts  have  advanced  from  the  more  or  less  negative 
exercise  of  the  police  power  to  a  more  positive  and  con- 
structive interpretation.  In  1907  the  Supreme  Court  made 
this  rather  remarkable  statement  in  regard  to  a  case  that 
had  been  decided  the  year  before:  "  In  that  case  we  rejected 
the  view  that  the  police  power  cannot  be  exercised  for  the 
general  well-being  of  the  community.  That  power,  we  said, 
embraces  regulations  designed  to  promote  the  public  health, 
the  public  morals,  or  the  public  safety  .  .  .  (the  power  of  the 
state)  is  not  confined,  as  we  said,  to  the  suppression  of  what  is 
offensive,  disorderly,  or  unsanitary.  It  extends  to  so  dealing 
with  the  conditions  that  exist  in  the  state  as  to  bring  out  of 
them  the  greatest  welfare  of  the  people.  This  is  the  principle 
of  the  cases  we  have  cited  ".* 

It  is  possible,  then,  to  define  the  police  power  with  reference 
to  property  rights  as  the  power  of  the  lawmakers,  and  ulti- 
mately of  the  courts  as  the  interpreters  of  the  law,  to  define  and 
restrict  the  right  of  property  from  time  to  time  as  it  may  be- 
come necessary  to  meet  the  needs  of  an  ever  changing  social 
order.  An  examination  of  the  cases  where  the  police  power  has 
been  used  will  show  that  those  which  have  attracted  public 
attention  and  have  proven  to  be  of  the  most  vital  interest  to  the 
nation  at  large  are  those  dealing  with  the  regulation  of  private 
property.  Indeed  Professor  Ely  has  defined  the  police  power 
as  "  the  power  of  the  courts  to  interpret  the  concept  property, 
and  above  all,  private  property;  and  to  establish  its  metes  and 
bounds  ".  Certainly  there  are  few  things  more  interesting  in 

1  Bacon  v.  Walker,  204,  U.  S.,  311,  317,  318.  The  earlier  case  cited 
was  C.  B.  &  Q.  R.  R.  Co.  v.  Drainage  Com.,  200  U.  S.  561,  562  (1906). 


INSTRUMENTALITIES  FOR  SOCIALIZING          321 

the  history  of  the  industrial  life  of  the  nation  than  the  effective 
way  in  which  this  vague  and  yet  powerful  principle  of  police 
power  has  been  used  and  is  destined  to  be  used  even  more  ex- 
tensively in  socializing  and  democratizing  the  institution  of 
private  property.  It  bids  fair  in  time  to  dislodge  private 
property  from  its  "  impregnable  constitutional  position." 

When  we  push  our  analysis  beyond  the  rather  vague  term, 
police  power,  which  in  reality  the  courts  have  never  succeeded 
in  denning  and  from  the  nature  of  the  principle  itself  can 
never  place  in  the  logical  straitjacket  of  a  final  definition,  we 
get  into  a  sphere  where  social  psychology  and  social  ethics 
must  come  to  our  aid.  We  discover  that  in  its  last  analysis 
the  police  power  draws  its  strength  and  divines  its  purpose 
from  that  fundamental  organization  of  the  sentiments  of  the 
community  that  we  have  labeled  the  social  conscience.  This 
is  intimated  by  one  of  the  most  socially  minded  members  of 
the  supreme  bench,  Mr.  Justice  Holmes,  as  follows:  "The 
police  power  extends  to  all  the  great  public  needs.  It  may 
be  put  forth  in  aid  of  what  is  sanctioned  by  usage,  or  held 
by  the  prevailing  morality  or  the  strong  and  preponderant 
opinion  to  be  greatly  and  immediately  necessary  to  the  public 
welfare  'V  This  is  a  clear  recognition  of  the  role  of  the  social 
conscience  in  directing  the  police  power  and  providing  it  with 
an  ultimate  sanction.  It  is  to  this  court  of  last  appeal  in  the 
enlightened  sentiments  of  a  free  people,  sentiments,  to  be 
sure,  that  change  from  age  to  age  with  the  shifting  stresses 
and  strains  of  the  social  order,  that  we  must  look  for  the 
determination  of  the  right  of  private  property.  If  the  time 
should  ever  come  when  the  prevailing  sentiments  of  the 
community  demand  the  abolition  of  private  property,  a  con- 
tingency that  is  exceedingly  remote,  the  lawmakers  and  the 
courts  would  be  duty  bound  to  give  rational  expression  to  this 
fact  in  the  laws  of  the  land.  For  it  is  out  of  the  stuff  of  the 
social  conscience  that  laws  are  made  and  here  they  find  their 
ultimate  sanction. 

U.  S.,  no  (1911),  p.  in. 


322  THE  ETHICS  OF  PRIVATE  PROPERTY 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books :  BEARD,  C.  A. :  Economic  Interpretation  of  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States,  1913;  ELY,  R.  T.:  Property  and  Contract  in  Their 
Relation  to  the  Distribution  of  Wealth,  2  vols.,   1914;   GEORGE,  HENRY: 
Progress  and  Poverty,  Bks.  6,  7,  8;  GREEN,  T.  H. :   Works,  Vol.  2,  pp. 
517  ff. ;    HOBHOUSE,   L.    T. :    Morals   in   Evolution,   pp.    318  ff. ;    HOLMES, 
O.    W. :    The    Common    Law,    Ch.   VI,    "  Possession    and    Ownership " ; 
LETOURNEAU:  Property:  Its  Origin  and  Development,  1892;  LLOYD,  H.  D. : 
Wealth  Against   Commonwealth,   1894;    MARSHALL,   L.   C. :    Readings  in 
Industrial  Society,  Chs.  3,  14;  RITCHIE,  D.  G. :  Natural  Rights,  Ch.  13; 
RYAN,  JOHN  A.:  Distributive  Justice,  1916;  VEBLEN,  T. :   Theory  of  the 
Leisure  Class;  WESTERMARCK,  E. :  Origin  and  Development  of  the  Moral 
Ideas,  Vol.  2,  Chs.  28,  29. 

2.  Articles :  HADLEY,  A.  T. :  "  The  Constitutional  Position  of  Property 
in  the  United  States."     The  Independent  for  April,   18,   1908;   HUXLEY, 
T.    H.:    "Natural    Rights    and    Political    Rights."     Nineteenth    Century, 
Feb.,  1890.     (A  criticism  of  Henry  George.)  ;  OVERSTREET,  H.  A.:  "Chang- 
ing Conceptions  of  Property."     International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  25, 
pp.  165  ff. ;  SHELDON  :  "  What  Justifies  Private  Property  ?  "    International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  4,  pp.  17  ff. 


CHAPTER  XVin 
MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

AN  examination  of  the  material  structure  of  modern  society 
will  show  that  it  is  essentially  industrial  in  nature  and  that 
it  has  two  poles,  the  machine  and  business  enterprise.  The 
technology  of  our  modern  life,  that  is  its  methods  of  pro- 
cedure in  the  mastery  and  direction  of  physical  and  human 
energy,  is  based  upon  the  machine.  The  business  enterprise 
that  animates  the  machine  process  is  dominated  by  the  capi- 
talist-manager or  the  entrepreneur  whose  chief  incentive  is 
profits.  There  are  of  course  large  sections  of  our  modern  life 
that  are  not  dominated  by  the  philosophy  of  the  machine,  just 
as  there  are  classes  that  are  not  prompted  primarily  by  the 
desire  for  gain.  But  the  strategic  position  occupied  by  the 
entrepreneur  in  the  business  world  and  the  dominance  of  the 
machine,  especially  in  those  industrial  processes  of  vital  con- 
cern to  human  welfare,  lend  to  these  two  facts  an  importance 
that  is  entirely  paramount  in  the  industrial  life  of  the  nation. 
The  problem  of  social  morality,  therefore,  so  far  as  industry 
and  business  are  concerned,  falls  into  two  phases.  The  first 
of  these  has  to  do  with  the  cultural  incidence  of  the  machine 
upon  the  character  and  the  way  of  life  of  the  people.  The 
second  phase  deals  with  the  ethics  of  business  enterprise, 
which  is  most  intimately  connected  with  the  machine  process. 
In  this  chapter  we  have  to  deal  with  the  first  phase  of  the 
problem. 

§  i.  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

To  understand  the  role  of  the  machine  process  in  modern 
life  we  must  define  what  we  mean  by  the  machine.  The  dis- 
tinction between  a  tool  such  as  a  scythe  and  a  machine  such 
as  a  lawn-mower  is  fairly  clear.  Such  ancient  and  honorable 

323 


324  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

implements  as  the  distaff  and  the  hand-loom  we  should  also 
class  as  tools  rather  than  as  machines.  But  was  Kay's  fly- 
shuttle,  invented  in  1738  to  do  the  work  of  two  weavers,  a 
tool  or  a  machine?  When  Hargreave  devised  an  instrument 
for  turning  eight  spindles,  which  he  called  "  spinning  Jenny  ", 
after  his  wife,  did  he  transform  the  spinning  wheel  into  a 
machine?  When  does  a  tool  become  a  machine?  "  When  a 
tool  is  removed  ",  says  Hobson,  "  from  the  direct  and  indi- 
vidual guidance  of  the  handicraftsman  and  placed  in  a  mechan- 
ism which  governs  its  action  by  the  prearranged  motion  of 
some  other  tool  or  mechanical  instrument,  it  ceases  to  be  a 
tool  and  becomes  part  of  a  machine  ".  It  will  be  seen,  there- 
fore, that  there  are  two  things  involved  in  the  idea  of  a  ma- 
chine, namely,  complexity  of  mechanical  process  and  the  au- 
tomatic character  of  this  process.  The  directive  agency  man 
must  supply  in  the  case  of  the  tool  is  absorbed  by  the  com- 
posite character  of  the  machine.  In  handling  a  scythe  one 
must  direct  the  cutting  edge  both  in  the  matter  of  speed  and 
the  angle  of  contact  to  get  the  desired  results.  In  the  lawn- 
mower  these  factors  are  taken  care  of  by  the  mechanism  it- 
self and  it  is  only  necessary  to  supply  the  power.  Man  de- 
termines both  when  and  how  the  tool  shall  act,  while  the 
machine,  to  a  certain  extent  at  least,  is  self-sufficient  and 
beyond  his  control. 

The  machine,  more  than  any  one  factor,  determines  the 
daily  routine  of  our  lives.  The  average  American  lives  in  a 
house  constructed  of  machine-made  bricks,  cement,  lumber, 
nails,  glass,  and  furniture;  he  takes  his  morning  bath  in  a 
machine-made  tub,  the  water  for  which  is  provided  and  heated 
by  machinery;  after  having  arrayed  himself  in  machine-made 
clothing,  he  reads  his  machine-made  newspaper,  and  he  sits 
down  to  a  breakfast  of  edibles  gathered  from  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  world  and  scientifically  prepared  as  a  result  of  the 
application  of  the  machine  to  transportation,  agriculture,  cold 
storage,  and  cooking;  he  finds  his  way  to  the  city,  ascends  to 
his  place  of  work  in  some  lofty  building  by  the  aid  of  a  ma- 
chine; throughout  a  busy  day  he  follows  a  machine,  fitting 


THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  325 

his  ideas  and  acts  into  its  arbitrary  mechanical  rhythm;  fin- 
ally a  machine  which  told  him  when  to  start  tells  him  when 
to  stop  his  work. 

The  machine  has  in  fact  transformed,  within  the  last 
two  or  three  generations,  the  very  structure  and  spirit  of  our 
civilization.  There  is  hardly  a  phase  of  our  contact  with 
men  and  things  that  it  has  not  modified.  Consider,  for  ex- 
ample, the  alteration  of  our  conception  of  time  by  the  ma- 
chine process.  To-day  we  are  forced  to  order  our  lives  ac- 
cording to  a  nicely  balanced  and  mechanically  determined 
schedule  of  hours  unknown  and  indeed  unnecessary  under  the 
old  domestic  economy  of  the  eighteenth  century.  "  Standard 
time "  and  the  exacting  requirements  it  makes  upon  our 
movements  is  the  result,  as  the  term  indicates,  of  the  appli- 
cation of  the  machine  to  transportation  by  rail.  We  use  the 
colloquialism,  to  "  get  left ",  derived  originally  from  the  exi- 
gencies of  railroad  travel,  in  a  general  way  to  describe  our 
failure  to  meet  some  one  of  the  countless  standardizations 
imposed  by  the  machine  process  upon  our  civilization.  To-day 
in  fact,  thanks  to  the  reign  of  machine-made  time,  the  words 
of  the  wise  man  bid  fair  to  be  realized,  "  To  everything  there 
is  a  season  and  a  time  for  every  purpose  under  the  sun  ". 

It  is  obvious  that  there  are  two  phases  of  the  machine 
process,  the  mechanical  and  the  social.  The  first  has  to  do 
with  those  mechanical  processes  by  which  man  makes  use 
of  tools  and  mechanical  appliances  for  the  satisfaction  of  his 
wants.  This  is  the  machine  process  in  the  narrower  sense 
of  the  term.  The  machine,  however,  must  be  reckoned  with 
as  a  factor  in  civilization.  The  secondary  and  larger  phase 
of  the  machine  process,  therefore,  is  concerned  with  the  disci- 
plinary effect  of  the  machine  industry  upon  character,  ideals, 
and  culture. 

It  is  of  course  difficult  to  distinguish  accurately  between 
these  two  phases  of  the  machine  process.  Consider,  for  ex- 
ample, the  shoe  industry.  We  have  first  the  mediation  and 
application  of  power  to  definite  ends  in  the  making  of  the 
shoe.  There  is  a  definite  machine  for  dozens  of  different 


326  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

stages,  such  as  preparing  the  leather,  making  soles,  uppers, 
eyelets,  and  the  like.  Each  machine,  however,  is  an  integral 
part  of  the  entire  process  involved  in  the  making  of  the  shoe 
and  implies  the  stage  preceding  and  that  following.  The  ma- 
chine process  in  the  making  of  the  shoe  commands,  further- 
more, various  other  processes  of  a  chemical  or  biological  na- 
ture. Variations  in  labor,  transportation,  market  values,  all 
enter  as  factors.  Even  the  weather,  heat  and  cold,  wind 
and  tide,  are  laid  under  tribute  by  the  machine.  The  ma- 
chine process  strives  to  introduce  unity  and  coordination  into 
all  these  varying  elements  involved  in  the  making  of  a  shoe 
by  insisting  as  far  as  possible  upon  quantitative  exactness. 
The  machine  demands  units  of  weight,  size,  elasticity,  density, 
chemical  constituency,  time,  labor,  money-value,  style,  and  the 
like.  It  is  only  through  this  process  of  mechanical  standardi- 
zation that  the  close  and  profitable  coordination  of  all  the 
factors  involved  in  making  and  marketing  a  shoe  is  possible. 
But  the  shoe  industry  depends  directly  upon  other  industries, 
such  as  the  leather  industry,  with  its  world-wide  affiliations, 
the  labor  situation,  the  tool  manufacturers,  the  mills  that  sup- 
ply thread  and  all  the  material  that  goes  into  the  shoe.  Here 
again  the  mechanical  demand  for  standardization  is  felt.  For 
the  various  related  industries  must  provide  the  shoe  manufac- 
turer with  a  standardized  product.  It  is  in  fact  this  process 
of  standardization  that  makes  possible  the  vast  and  delicately 
articulated  structure  of  modern  business.  The  further  this 
mechanical  concatenation  of  industries  is  extended,  the  easier 
they  are  to  administer  and  the  more  satisfactorily  they  lend 
themselves  to  the  calculation  of  profits,  which  is  the  driving 
force  of  business  enterprise.  There  is  also  the  disadvantage 
that  disturbance  at  one  point  tends  to  derange  the  entire  struc- 
ture. For  modern  industry  is  one  vast  coordination  of 
machine-made  units  through  the  standardizations  introduced 
through  machine  industry. 

But  this  unification  of  industry  by  means  of  the  standard- 
izing effects  of  the  machine  is  only  one  phase  of  the  machine 
process  and  that  phase  is  external,  mechanical,  artificial,  phys- 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE  327 

ical.  Hand  in  hand  with  this  goes  the  subjective,  the  moral, 
and  the  human  side.  For  the  machine  process  moulds  human 
material  as  well  as  physical.  The  mental  attitudes  of  the  aver- 
age man  are  correlatives  of  his  daily  activities,  his  habitual 
way  of  life.  Codes  of  ethics  spring  up  in  connection  with 
particular  phases  of  industry,  professions,  or  sources  of  in- 
come. There  is  an  ethical  code  for  the  steel  worker,  the 
bricklayer,  the  coal  miner,  the  railroad  employee,  just  as  there 
is  a  code  of  ethics  peculiar  to  lawyer,  doctor,  minister,  or 
"  captain  of  industry  ".  Now  in  so  far  as  the  machine  process 
makes  itself  felt  in  the  lives  of  men  either  as  groups  or  as 
a  community  we  must  expect  it  to  register  itself  in  their 
philosophy  of  life.  Obviously  the  effects  of  the  machine 
process  will  be  most  in  evidence  among  those  classes  that 
are  required  to  think  and  act  most  directly  and  incessantly  in 
terms  of  the  machine,  namely,  the  industrial  worker.  Even 
here  a  distinction  is  to  be  made  between  those  workers  that 
submit  blindly  and  uncritically  to  the  discipline  of  the  ma- 
chine and  those,  such  as  skilled  mechanics,  who  gain  insight 
into  the  principles  of  the  machine.  The  expert  scientific 
manager  is  in  danger,  as  we  shall  see,  of  becoming  the  very 
incarnation  of  the  machine  process. 

§  2.   THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE 

The  cultural  incidence  of  the  machine  process  upon  our 
modern  life  is  too  vast  and  intricate  to  be  fitly  character- 
ized in  a  few  words.  As  an  economic  factor  the  machine  has 
made  possible  a  fabulous  increase  in  the  production  of  goods, 
thereby  assuring  an  abundant  supply  of  the  necessities  of 
life.  The  machine  process  has  multiplied  the  capital  of  the 
world  with  all  the  possibilities  this  implies  for  the  advance- 
ment of  culture,  notwithstanding  what  may  be  said  as  to 
present  inequality  in  the  distribution  of  wealth.  Without  the 
aid  of  the  machine  in  the  matter  of  transportation,  communi- 
cation and  the  rapid  spread  of  knowledge  it  may  be  seriously 
doubted  whether  advanced  democracy  as  we  now  know  it 
would  have  been  possible.  In  spite  of  the  unthoughted  op- 


328  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

position  to  the  spread  of  the  machine  process  by  the  workman 
it  has  in  fact  increased  both  his  wages  and  the  gross  amount 
of  his  work.  The  conclusion  of  the  economist  is  that  the  status 
of  the  worker  to-day  is  at  least  no  worse  than  before  the 
industrial  revolution.  The  machine,  furthermore,  is  not 
without  a  certain  moral  discipline  in  that  it  encourages  the 
virtues  of  promptness,  accuracy,  and  temperance.  A  former 
Commissioner  of  Labor,  Carroll  D.  Wright,  has  asserted,  "  The 
greatest  single  influence  in  the  United  States,  making  for 
temperance,  is  the  railroad  ". 

But  the  immediate  task  before  us  is  not  so  much  the 
evaluation  of  the  machine  and  its  place  in  life  as  a  whole  as 
the  principles  it  tends  to  emphasize,  the  philosophy  of  life  it 
encourages.  Obviously  the  occupations  that  bring  men  most 
directly  into  contact  with  the  machine,  thereby  making  it  the 
constant  object  of  sense-perceptions  and  of  reasoning  pro- 
cesses, will  be  most  susceptible  to  its  influence.  But,  as  has 
already  been  suggested,  the  machine  permeates  every  phase 
of  modern  life. 

Any  understanding  of  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  must 
start  with  the  principle  upon  which  the  machine  is  based, 
namely,  causation.  By  Plato  and  the  theologians  of  the 
Middle  Ages  causation  was  conceived  anthropomorphically. 
That  is  to  say,  all  causal  phenomena  were  thought  to  imply 
will,  intelligence,  purpose.  In  purpose  as  it  exists  in  the 
infinite  mind  was  found  the  ultimate  source  of  all  the 
causes  in  the  universe.  This  doctrine  of  final  causes  pre- 
vailed until  the  formulation  of  modern  scientific  method  by 
Keppler,  Galileo  and  Newton.  During  the  eighteenth  and 
early  nineteenth  centuries  it  was  usual  to  explain  causation 
in  terms  of  the  quantitative  equivalence  of  cause  and  effect. 
It  is  possible  that  this  idea  of  causation  reflects  the  age 
of  the  handicrafts  where  every  effect  finds  its  adequate 
cause  in  the  skill  and  energy  of  the  worker.  Certainly 
this  idea  of  causation  was  thoroughly  in  harmony  with 
the  rationalism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  theological  ex- 
pression of  which  was  deism  with  its  conception  of  God  as 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE  329 

the  "  Great  Artificer  ",  who  assures  the  ordered  and  balanced 
interplay  of  the  forces  of  the  universe.  The  disciplinary  ef- 
fect of  the  machine  process,  however,  has  habituated  men  to 
think  of  causation  neither  as  purpose  nor  as  equivalence  but 
as  a  process.  In  a  complicated  machine  such  as  a  printing 
press  what  interests  us  is  neither  the  initiation  of  the  energy 
nor  the  end  sought  but  the  marvelous  interrelation  of  parts, 
the  unbroken  transmission  of  energy  and  movement.  In  Eng- 
land where  the  machine  process  had  its  inception  and  greatest 
influence,  thinkers  began  to  explain  the  facts  of  nature  in 
terms  of  process  or  the  way  they  behave.  Veblen  even  insists 
that  the  machine  process  suggested  to  Darwin  his  revolution- 
ary theory,  though  this  appears  doubtful.  It  will  hardly  be 
denied,  however,  that  scientists  now  conceive  of  causation 
pragmatically.  A  cause  is  measured  and  explained  in  terms 
of  what  it  does.  Questions  of  absolute  origins  or  of  ultimate 
ends  are  eliminated  and  attention  is  fixed  upon  the  immediate 
experiential  process. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  machine  is  materialistic. 
Its  materialism,  however,  is  one  of  method.  That  is  to  say, 
the  implications  of  its  technology  and  way  of  behavior  imply 
only  the  forces  and  laws  peculiar  to  the  material  world.  The 
machine  makes  no  claim  either  to  exhaust  experience  or  to 
give  us  insight  into  the  ultimate  constitution  of  things.  It 
neither  affirms  nor  denies  the  existence  of  spiritual  values; 
for  the  machine  these  things  are  simply  non-existent.  The 
machine  envisages  reality  in  terms  of  units  of  measurement 
that  contemplate  a  certain  quantum;  it  has  no  scale  by  which 
to  estimate  the  quale  of  things.  The  machine  can  give  us 
the  "  what  "  of  experience  but  not  the  "  how  ".  All  those 
precious  values  that  lie  at  the  heart  of  morals,  art,  and  re- 
ligion are  for  the  machine  process  only  illusions  or  achieve 
reality  as  they  affect  the  quantitative  phase  of  being.  The 
machine  shatters  the  teeming  fulness  of  life  and  from  the 
fragments  erects  the  inert,  static,  artificial  world  of  mechanical 
human  ingenuities.  It  is  the  affiliation  of  economics  with  the 
quantitative  units  of  the  machine  process  which  perhaps  more 


330  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

than  anything  else  has  won  for  it  the  epithet  of  the  "  dismal 
science  ".  For  whatever  draws  its  inspiration  from  the  ma- 
chine process  is  apt  to  become  "  dispassionate,  opaque,  un- 
teleological "  like  the  brute  matter  with  which  the  machine 
deals. 

Naturally  the  machine  process  emphasizes  physical  force. 
It  is  itself  merely  a  cleverly  devised  scheme  for  the  harness- 
ing and  utilizing  of  energy.  The  worship  of  power  that  was 
the  bane  of  the  last  century,  culminating  in  the  Machtpolitik 
of  Germany,  was  to  no  small  degree  the  result  of  the  triumphs 
of  the  machine.  Men  were  educated  to  measure  all  forces, 
including  those  that  make  for  political  greatness,  in  terms  of 
the  machine.  Where  national  economies  were  patterned  after 
the  closely  articulated  structure  of  a  vast  machine  it  was 
imagined  that  the  acme  of  perfection  had  been  attained.  The 
gospel  of  "  efficiency  "  of  which  we  hear  so  much  in  business 
has  many  points  in  common  with  the  Wille-zur-Macht  of 
Prussianism.  On  closer  analysis  it  often  turns  out  to  be  a 
worship  of  power  made  possible  by  the  triumphs  of  the  ma- 
chine process  in  industry.  "  The  outcome  of  it  all  is  an  arti- 
ficial civilization  founded  on  the  cult  of  mechanism  and  power, 
a  civilization  whose  works  continually  run  counter  to  the 
deeper  will  of  the  race,  and  this  for  the  simple  reason  that 
the  principle  at  its  root  wrongly  interprets  the  nature  of  man. 
Man  is  not  a  machine  neither  in  body  nor  in  mind  'V 

The  machine  is  intensely  prosaic  and  matter-of-fact. 
There  is  no  place  for  fairy  stories  in  the  machine  process. 
The  heaven-storming  flights  of  poetic  imagination  where  man's 
spirit  comes  into  its  own  are  utterly  foreign  to  the  genius  of 
the  machine.  Even  the  imagination  of  the  scientist  is  cribbed, 
cabined,  confined,  and  forced  to  follow  the  orthodox,  predes- 
tinated path  of  the  machine.  Because  of  its  matter-of-factness 
the  machine  places  a  premium  on  mediocrity.  Its  mania  is 
standardization,  and  to  standardize  is  to  vulgarize.  If  we  take 
democracy  to  mean  egalitarianism,  then  the  machine  is  the 

1  Jacks,  "  Mechanism,  Diabolism,  and  the  War ",  Hibbert  Journal, 
Vol.  XIII,  p.  31. 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE  331 

great  democratize!-.  For  the  machine  is  the  great  leveller. 
It  ruthlessly  ignores  all  claims  to  respectability,  uniqueness, 
originality,  or  nobleness.  For  the  machine  there  are  no  Celes- 
tial Mountains  just  as  there  is  no  Dante's  Inferno.  What 
does  not  fall  within  its  quantitative  standardization  is  non- 
existent. The  machine  is  utterly  indifferent  to  all  man's  strug- 
gles for  righteousness.  It  knows  neither  beauty  nor  good- 
ness nor  truth.  It  works  the  will  of  the  devil  just  as  effec- 
tively as  that  of  God.  For  it  there  is  neither  wrath  nor  ruth. 

The  machine  is  neither  immoral  nor  moral;  it  is  unmoral. 
The  machine  in  fact  illustrates  the  curious  dualism  that  exists 
between  idea  and  belief,  pure  thought  and  conduct.  For  the 
machine  is  the  product  of  pure  reason.  The  industrial  revo- 
lution like  the  political  rationalism  of  John  Locke  and  Thomas 
Paine  and  the  economic  rationalism  of  Adam  Smith  is  the 
product  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  resulted  from  the  ap- 
plication of  cold  reason  to  industry  as  illustrated  in  the  inven- 
tions of  Hargreaves,  Cartwright,  and  Watt.  Now  it  is  obvious 
that  a  clear-cut  logical  process  such  as  a  proposition  of  Euclid 
admits  of  no  moral  issue.  The  pons  assinorum  would  be  true 
apparently  though  righteousness  should  perish  from  the  uni- 
verse. The  same  is  true  of  the  principles  underlying  the  lever 
or  the  steam-engine.  They  belong  to  a  sphere  of  reality  that 
ethics  does  not  touch.  For  we  can  only  have  a  moral  issue 
where  there  is  freedom,  contingency,  the  element  of  adven- 
ture. The  machine  fits  only  a  deterministic  world  scheme 
and  for  this  reason  it  is  unmoral.  The  spirit  of  the  machine 
is  strikingly  illustrated  in  the  crowning  product  of  the  ma- 
chine process,  namely,  the  corporation.  The  corporation  has 
been  called  "  soulless  "  because  it  represents  the  cold,  imper- 
sonal, unmoral,  and  indefectible  philosophy  of  the  machine 
applied  to  business  on  a  large  scale. 

The  machine  process  is  sceptical  and  iconoclastic  towards 
all  our  ancient  loyalties.  The  scepticism  of  the  machine 
philosophy  is  negative  rather  than  positive.  It  spreads  lack 
of  faith  not  so  much  by  what  it  actually  does  as  by  what  it 
fails  to  do.  The  scepticism  of  the  machine  is  an  implication 


332  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

of  a  way  of  life  and  for  this  reason  is  all  the  more  deadly. 
Our  beliefs  as  well  as  our  doubts  are  not  so  much  the  result 
of  speculative  thought  as  the  subtle  creation  of  a  way  of  life. 
The  machine  ignores,  as  we  have  seen,  large  areas  of  experi- 
ence that  are  qualitative  rather  than  quantitative  in  nature.  To 
live  a  life  dominated  by  the  machine  process  is,  by  implica- 
tion at  least,  to  negate  these  values.  We  are  forced  to  live  as 
though  they  were  non-existent.  Thus  the  machine  process 
cuts  across  the  time-honored  loyalties  embodied  in  law  and 
the  social  conscience  of  the  business  man  in  that  it  calmly 
inaugurates  situations  in  the  business  and  industrial  orders  in 
which  these  ancient  forms  of  social  rectitude  become  mean- 
ingless. 

The  employer,  for  example,  supported  by  the  law  and  in- 
herited social  traditions,  opposes  the  principle  of  collective 
bargaining  put  forward  by  union  labor.  He  argues  that  the 
rights  of  freedom  of  contract  between  man  and  man,  em- 
bodied in  the  common  law  and  sanctioned  by  the  traditional 
ethics,  do  not  recognize  collective  bargaining  as  demanded  by 
the  worker.  But  the  machine  process,  which  the  employer 
has  furthered,  has  created  a  situation  in  which  this  old  indi- 
vidualistic conception  of  freedom  of  contract  does  not  apply 
and  is  actually  negated  by  the  present  stage  of  industrial 
evolution.  To  be  sure,  the  ethical  question  involved  is  for  the 
machine  process  non-existent,  for  the  machine  process  moves 
at  a  level  untouched  by  moral  values.  But  the  actual  effect 
of  the  machine  process  is  to  encourage  moral  scepticism  on 
the  part  of  the  worker  towards  the  traditional  conceptions  of 
the  old  individualistic  ethic.  He  is  forced  to  live  in  an  indus- 
trial order  in  which  these  norms  are  ignored  and  he  is  schooled 
in  time  to  look  upon  them  as  invalidated.  Any  belief  or  rule 
of  conduct  for  which  we  can  find  no  practical  use  is  already 
in  process  of  being  discredited. 

The  machine  process  is  irreligious.  Take,  for  example,  the 
belief  in  a  personal  God.  It  is  hardly  in  harmony  with  the 
materialistic  point  of  view  of  the  machine.  This  master  of 
modern  life  knows  no  supernatural  sovereign.  It  speaks  only 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE  333 

of  impersonal  physical  energy.  In  the  predetermined  order 
of  the  machine  there  is  no  place  for  sin  and  forgiveness.  To 
the  workman  soaked  with  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  the 
kindly  and  paternalistic  attitude  of  the  church  is  an  unwar- 
ranted impertinence.  The  church  ordinances,  with  their 
mystic  appeal,  become  empty,  meaningless  mummery.  If  we 
follow  the  evolution  of  the  theistic  concept  down  through  the 
rationalism  of  the  eighteenth  century  and  the  triumph  of  the 
machine  process  in  the  nineteenth  to  the  present,  we  find  that 
the  "  Great  Artificer  "  of  the  eighteenth  century  tends  to  dis- 
appear with  the  displacement  of  the  handicraftsman  by  the 
machine.  The  machine  technology  that  dominates  our  modern 
life  is  blandly  and  baldly  atheistic.  Where  it  dominates,  a 
mental  attitude  is  encouraged  which,  if  not  downright  sceptical, 
is  at  least  indifferent  towards  the  traditional  religious  beliefs. 
In  his  poem  "  The  Brute  "  W.  V.  Moody  thus  portrays 
the  darker  phase  of  the  machine  process: 

"  Through  his  might  men  work  their  wills. 
They  have  boweled  out  the  hills 

For  food  to  keep  him  toiling  in  the  cages  they  have  wrought; 
And  they  fling  him  hour  by  hour, 
Limbs  of  men  to  give  him  power ; 

Brains  of  men  to  give  him  cunning;  and  for  dainties  to  devour 
Children's  souls,  the  little  worth;  hearts  of  women  cheaply  bought: 
He  takes  them  and  he  breaks  them,  but  he  gives  them  scanty 
thought. 

"  Quietude  and  loveliness, 
Holy  sights  that  heal  and  bless, 

They  are  scattered  and  abolished  where  his  iron  hoof  is  set; 
When  he  splashes  through  the  brae 
Silver  streams  are  choked  with  clay, 
When  he  snorts  the  bright  cliffs  crumble  and  the  woods  go  down 

like  hay; 

He  lairs  in  pleasant  cities,  and  the  haggard  people  fret 
Squalid  'mid  their  new-got  riches,  soot-begrimed  and  desolate. 

"  They  who  caught  and  bound  him  tight 
Laughed  exultant  at  his  might, 

Saying,  '  Now  behold  the  good  time  comes  for  the  weariest  and 
the  least! 


334  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

We  will  use  this  lusty  knave: 

No  more  need  for  men  to  slave: 

We  may  rise  and  look  about  us  and  have  knowledge  ere  the  grave.' 

But  the  Brute  said  in  his  breast,  '  Till  the  mills  I  grind  have 

ceased, 
The  riches  shall  be  dust  of  dust,  dry  ashes  be  the  feastl 

" '  On  the  strong  and  cunning  few 
Cynic  favors  I  will  strew; 

I  will  stuff  their  maw  with  overplus  until  their  spirit  dies; 
From  the  patient  and  the  low 
I  will  take  the  joys  they  know; 

They  shall  hunger  after  vanities  and  still  ahungering  go. 
Madness  shall  be  on  the  people,  ghastly  jealousies  arise; 
Brother's  blood  shall  cry  on  brother  up  the  dead  and  empty  skies. 

"  '  I  will  burn  and  dig  and  hack 
Till  the  heavens  suffer  lack; 

God  shall  feel  a  pleasure  fail  Him,  crying  to  his  cherubim, 
"  Who  hath  flung  yon  mud  ball  there 
Where  my  world  went  green  and  fair?  " 
I  shall  laugh  and  hug  me,  hearing  how  his  sentinels  declare, 
"  'Tis  the  Brute  they  chained  to  labor!     He  has  made  the  bright 

earth  dim. 
Stores  of  wares  and  pelf  a  plenty,  but  they  get  no  good  of  him."  '  " 

Western  civilization  which  for  the  best  part  of  a  century 
has  been  in  the  grip  of  the  machine  process  and  has  sung 
the  power  and  the  cunning  of  its  master  was  rudely  awakened 
from  its  dream  by  the  apparition  of  a  mail-clad  giant  in 
Europe  proclaiming  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  in  the 
name  of  Kultur.  The  specter  of  sixty-five  millions  of  people, 
trained  to  the  highest  pitch  of  efficiency,  organized  under  mas- 
terful and  unscrupulous  leaders,  obsessed  with  the  philosophy 

1  Kipling,  to  be  sure,  has  shown  us  in  his  "  M'Andrew's  Hymn  "  that 
there  is  a  poetry  of  the  machine  that  is  noble  and  religious.  But  even 
this  poetry  presupposes  a  fixed  and  fatalistic  order,  as  is  seen  in  the 
following  lines  Kipling  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  Calvinistic  Scotch 
engineer. 

"  From  coupler-flange  to  spindle-guide  I  see  Thy  Hand,  O  God — 

Predestination  in  the  stride  o'  yon  connectin'-rod. 

John  Calvin  might  ha'  forged  the  same — enormous,  certain,  slow — 

Ay,  wrought  it  in  the  furnace-flame — my  '  Institutio.' " 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  MACHINE  335 

of  the  machine  and  headed  for  world-conquest,  froze  the  heart 
of  the  western  world  with  terror.  Here  was  a  monstrosity 
grim  and  terrible,  cradled  in  the  Eden  which  we  fondly 
dreamed  the  machine  was  in  a  fair  way  to  create  for  man. 
This  nightmare  with  its  gospel  of  frightfulness  made  possible 
by  the  machine  convinced  us  that  after  all  we  were  living  in 
a  fool's  paradise.  Once  more  man  had  been  cruelly  tricked 
and  that  by  his  own  creature.  He  must  tame  the  "  Brute  " 
that  threatens  his  higher  life  and  start  out  once  again  on  the 
via  dolorosa  that  seems  to  have  no  end  in  his  eternal  quest 
for  the  land  of  his  heart's  desire. 

The  terror  aroused  in  mankind  by  the  revelation  of  the 
spirit  of  the  machine  in  all  its  devilishness  in  militaristic  Ger- 
many is  not  a  new  experience  in  the  history  of  the  race.  Men 
have  always  entertained  more  or  less  fear  of  the  machine.  We 
do  not  associate  this  fear,  however,  with  the  tool.  Around 
familiar  tools  such  as  the  distaff,  the  axe  or  the  pen  are  cen- 
tered intimate  and  appealing  human  sentiments  that  have 
found  expression  in  poetry,  music,  and  art.  The  machine,  on 
the  other  hand,  especially  if  it  combines  power  with  com- 
plexity and  mystery,  arouses  in  us  distrust  which  under  cer- 
tain circumstances  mounts  to  indescribable  terror.  Why  do 
we  love  the  tool  and  fear  the  machine?  The  answer  is  that 
the  tool  is  the  servant  of  the  human  will  and  in  the  case  of 
the  artist  or  skilled  worker  is  almost  a  part  of  himself  and 
breathes  his  own  rational  and  creative  genius.  The  machine, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  independent  of  the  will,  self-sufficient, 
indifferent.  It  works  with  rhythmic,  deadly,  predestinated  ac- 
curacy. It  is  the  grinning  skeleton  of  a  self  that  is  utterly 
without  a  soul.  It  has  the  precision,  the  logical  sequence,  the 
coordination  and  finality  of  reason  but  is  devoid  of  conscience. 
When,  therefore,  the  machine  closes  in  upon  us  and  seeks  to 
subject  us  to  its  economy  the  very  essence  of  personality  is 
threatened,  namely,  the  free,  creative,  moral  will.  We  fear 
the  machine,  therefore,  because  when  it  seeks  to  rule  it  be- 
comes a  moral  monstrosity. 

To  surrender  to  the  machine  process,  therefore,  is  to 


336  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

negate  all  those  values  that  make  human  life  worth  while. 
The  horror  of  German  militarism  lay  in  the  mechanizing  of 
an  entire  civilization.  It  was  the  spectacle  of  a  great  people 
organized  with  all  the  effectiveness  of  a  skilfully  articulated 
machine  and  yet  actuated  by  the  conscience  of  a  mob  that 
filled  the  world  with  a  nameless  horror.  For  here  was  a  trans- 
valuation  of  values  that  seemed  to  change  our  hard  won  para- 
dise into  a  hell.  Mankind  had  been  taught  to  associate  the 
achievements  of  science  with  the  darling  aspirations  of  the 
race.  Now  men  beheld  to  their  dismay  the  devil  masquerad- 
ing in  the  apparel  of  an  angel  of  light.  The  disillusionment 
was  a  terrible  one  but  it  has  brought  much  searching  of  the 
heart.  It  has  taught  us  that  the  machine  process  can  only 
be  of  value  as  it  is  made  to  serve  and  not  to  rule  the  spirit 
of  man.  For  the  human  intellect  to  be  terrified  at  its  own 
contrivance  is  to  acknowledge  its  own  weakness  and  stupidity. 
The  future  belongs  to  those  who  neither  fear  the  machine  nor 
blindly  bow  to  its  rule  but  who  make  it  serve  the  cause  of 
justice,  mercy,  and  truth. 

§  3.   THE  CULTURAL  INCIDENCE  OF  THE  MACHINE 

It  is  to  be  expected  that  the  philosophy  of  the  machine 
would  be  most  in  evidence  among  those  most  directly  con- 
cerned, namely,  the  workers.  This  is  to  a  certain  extent  true. 
The  testimony  of  those  in  close  touch  with  the  industrial 
worker  is  to  the  effect  that  he  is  inclined  to  a  more  or  less 
mechanistic  world-view.  Society  is  judged  in  terms  of  the 
machine's  philosophy.  "  Suffering,  love,  mercy,  faith,  hope, 
are  nothing  to  this  universal  dominating  and  transforming 
physical  force.  The  explosion  is  not  delayed,  the  fire  burns, 
the  knife  cuts,  the  machine  mangles,  and  the  process  goes  on 
unmoved  by  the  defiance  of  the  strong  or  the  prayers  and  suf- 
ferings of  the  weak  or  the  just  "-1  At  trade  union  meet- 
ings and  in  their  literature  are  found  such  expressions  as 
"  Physical  power  the  motive  force  of  everything;  might  is 

1  Hoxie,  "  Class  Conflict,"  The  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol. 
.  777. 


THE  CULTURAL  INCIDENCE  OF  THE  MACHINE    337 

right ".  The  machine  philosophy  as  to  the  structure  of 
society  is  seen  in  the  statements,  "  The  capitalists  perform 
no  work  ",  "  Employers  are  parasites  ",  "  Property  rights  are 
not  rights  but  privileges  ". 

Sceptical  and  iconoclastic  attitudes  towards  the  traditional 
economic  and  moral  standards  induced  by  the  discipline  of 
the  machine  process  can  be  detected  in  the  following,  "  Labor 
has  no  reason  to  be  patriotic;  the  capitalists  own  the  coun- 
try ",  "  The  Church  and  State — the  great  pillars  of  the  capi- 
talists and  of  capitalistic  society  ".  "  Self-denial  and  saving 
are  not  virtues  for  the  workers  but  should  be  condemned  ". 
"  Contracts  with  the  employers  are  not  sacred  ".  "  Competi- 
tion for  others,  not  for  us.  Rival  organizations  are  futile  and 
a  detriment ".  There  is,  however,  abundant  evidence  that  the 
worker  is  not  dominated  by  the  philosophy  of  the  machine. 
The  eternally  human  in  him  would  never  tolerate  such  a 
humiliation.  It  is  in  the  opposition  of  the  unions  to  scientific 
management,  the  last  refinement  of  the  machine  process,  that 
this  emerges  clearly,  as  we  shall  see  in  a  later  chapter.  Trade 
unionism  is  in  fact  a  protest  against  the  logic  of  the  machine 
process  in  the  interest  of  larger  human  values. 

The  philosophy  of  the  machine  is  most  clearly  in  evidence 
in  that  phase  of  the  industrial  world  for  which  it  is  chiefly 
responsible,  namely,  in  the  modern  large  corporation.  The 
materialism,  the  impersonal  selfishness,  the  heartless  exercise 
of  power,  the  cold  and  unscrupulous  rationalism  that  has  made 
the  term  "  big  business  "  anathema  in  the  minds  of  many 
good  people  is  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  large- 
scale  business  of  to-day  still  to  a  large  extent  reflects  the 
spirit  of  the  machine  process  of  which  it  is  but  the  creature. 
The  influence  of  the  machine  is  in  evidence  in  the  imperson- 
ality of  society.  The  machine  is  assuming  more  and  more  of 
those  services  that  men  once  performed  for  each  other.  The 
telephone,  the  telegraph  and  the  printing  press  have  deper- 
sonalized our  social  contacts.  Even  the  people  on  a  crowded 
street-car  hurrying  to  their  places  of  business  are  wrapped  in 
an  atmosphere  of  impersonal  remoteness.  This  impersonality 


338  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

made  possible  by  the  machine  saves  time  and  energy,  to  be 
sure,  but  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  social  and  moral  discipline 
gained  through  entering  sympathetically  and  intelligently  into 
the  lives  of  our  fellows.  It  makes  the  problem  of  securing 
democratic  like-mindedness  increasingly  difficult. 

Corresponding  to  the  impersonality  of  the  Great  Society 
demanded  by  the  machine  we  have  the  impersonality  of  the 
money-economy.  In  the  rapid  whirl  of  our  modern  industrial 
order,  with  its  multifarious  mechanical  standardizations  and 
its  utter  indifference  to  those  values  represented  by  ethics, 
religion  and  democracy,  the  machine  process  when  allowed 
free  play,  works  like  a  powerful  acid  to  disintegrate  the  tissues 
of  the  social  organism.  It  is  not  only  impersonal  but  it  favors 
a  sort  of  mechanical  atomism.  The  human  atom  is  related 
to  the  industrial  establishment  or  to  the  community  not  by 
the  ties  of  home,  church,  party  or  a  sense  of  duty  but  by  the 
demands  of  the  various  applications  of  physical  energy  to 
production,  transportation  and  distribution  that  have  been 
standardized  and  rationally  coordinated  by  the  machine 
process.  He  is  shifted  from  machine  to  machine  in  the  shop, 
from  trade  to  trade,  from  employment  to  employment,  from 
city  to  city,  from  hemisphere  to  hemisphere,  according  to  the 
impersonal  demands  of  the  machine  process.  Because  of  this 
impersonal  and  mechanical  atomism  peculiar  to  the  machine 
process  it  becomes  imperatively  necessary  to  have  some  uni- 
versal arbiter  of  values,  a  common  denominator  to  which  these 
various  standardizations  of  the  machine  process  can  be  re- 
duced. The  dollar  coordinates  the  mechanical  units  of  the 
machine  process  and  saves  us  from  chaos.  Yet  the  dollar 
partakes  of  the  impersonality  of  these  units.  The  pecuniary 
impersonalism  of  the  dollar,  therefore,  is  the  correlative  of 
the  mechanical  impersonalism  of  the  machine  process. 

It  is  in  scientific  management,  however,  that  the  last  re- 
finements in  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  process  appear. 
In  it  we  find  expressed  the  quintessence  of  the  spirit  of  the 
machine.  Scientific  management,  so  its  great  protagonist  Mr. 
Taylor  tells  us,  breaks  frankly  with  the  former  most  approved 


THE  CULTURAL  INCIDENCE  OF  THE  MACHINE    339 

managerial  philosophy,  namely,  "  initiative  and  incentive  "  or 
"  putting  it  up  "  to  the  worker  to  secure  increased  output  and 
interest  in  the  work  through  bonuses  and  the  like.  Craft 
knowledge  is  carefully  accumulated,  systematized,  tested 
mainly  in  terms  of  time  and  motion  study,  and  tabulated  in 
the  manager's  office,  the  data  in  an  ordinary  machine  shop 
often  filling  "  thousands  of  pages  ".  The  manager  carefully 
outlines  "  at  least  one  day  in  advance "  the  work  of  each 
mechanic  down  to  the  smallest  motion,  on  the  task  plan,  after 
the  worker  himself  has  been  scientifically  selected  for  the  task. 
The  worker  cooperates  with  the  manager  in  training  and  per- 
fecting himself  until  he  is  able  to  do  the  work  in  the  described 
time  and  method.  The  worker  then  receives  from  thirty  to 
one  hundred  percent  increase  in  wages.1  It  is  claimed  that 
the  man  well  suited  to  his  job  "  will  thrive  while  working  at 
this  rate  during  a  long  term  of  years  and  grow  happier  and 
more  prosperous,  instead  of  being  overworked."  The  essen- 
tial thing  in  scientific  management  seems  to  be  time  and  mo- 
tion study  whether  applied  to  the  pig  iron  handler,  the  brick- 
layer or  the  clerk  in  the  office.  Upon  this  is  based  its  claim 
to  be  a  science  and  from  this  we  must  take  our  point  of 
departure  in  estimating  its  value  in  the  furthering  of  human 
welfare. 

Throughout  Mr.  Taylor's  book  one  detects  a  broader  and 
a  narrower  sense  in  which  he  discusses  scientific  management. 
He  warns  against  confusing  the  "  mechanism  "  of  scientific 
management  with  "  certain  broad  general  principles,  a  certain 
philosophy,  which  can  be  applied  in  many  ways."  The 
mechanism  varies  indefinitely  with  the  shop,  the  manager,  the 
men,  the  kind  of  work;  the  principles  remain  the  same. 
Taylor  claims  that  the  opposition  of  workers  and  others  to 
scientific  management  is  due  largely  to  the  confusion  of  the 
immediate  means  used  with  the  fundamental  principles  con- 
cerned. Looking  at  the  actual  timing  and  studying  of  the 
individual  worker  the  unions  get  a  wrong  impression.  They 
see  "  a  cowering  workman  over  whom  stands  a  labor  driver. 

JF.  W.  Taylor,  Principles  of  Scientific  Management,  pp.  30  ff. 


340  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

In  one  hand  he  holds  a  split-second  watch.  In  the  other  he 
has  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  are  set  down  the  elementary 
motions  of  which  the  job  is  made  up,  with  spaces  opposite 
each  in  which  may  be  recorded  the  time  taken  by  the  worker 
to  make  each  motion.  The  watch  is  started.  The  workman 
jumps  to  his  task  'V  This,  on  the  face  of  it,  seems  a  heart- 
less humiliation  of  the  worker  by  asking  him  to  become  a 
mere  machine  in  a  laboratory. 

But  Mr.  Taylor  asks  us  to  take  the  larger  point  of  view 
and  to  remember  that  the  experimenter  seeks  "  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  scientific  management  applicable  to  all 
kinds  of  human  activities,  from  our  simplest  individual  acts 
to  the  work  of  our  great  corporations  ".  When  these  have 
been  worked  out  experimentally  we  shall  have  a  basis  upon 
which  to  secure  peace  between  the  worker  and  his  employer. 
Then  the  foundations  will  be  laid  for  industrial  democracy 
and  social  justice.  The  fickle  and  uncertain  forces  of  public 
opinion  will  be  ruled  out.  There  will  be  no  need  for  com- 
missions to  arbitrate  between  labor  and  capital.  The  rights 
of  all  will  be  determined  upon  fixed  scientific  principles.  In- 
stead of  the  autocratic  rule  of  employer  we  shall  have  the 
democracy  of  science.  The  hateful  supervision  of  the  fore- 
man and  superintendent  will  disappear  in  the  mutual  under- 
standing of  common  interests  based  upon  universal  laws. 
The  worker  will  devote  himself  to  that  task  for  which  he  is 
best  fitted.  Promotion  will  not  be  left  to  prejudice  or  politics 
but  will  take  place  on  the  basis  of  absolute  scientifically  de- 
termined merit.  Trade  unions  will  be  superfluous.  The 
powerful  associations  of  manufacturers  will  seek  only  the  ends 
of  peace  and  industrial  harmony.  In  other  words,  scientific 
management  "  has  for  its  sole  aim  the  attainment  of  justice 
for  all  three  parties  (employer,  worker,  and  the  public) 
through  impartial  scientific  investigation  of  all  the  elements  in 
the  problem ".  The  genuine  idealism  and  sense  of  social 
service  expressed  here  and  in  all  of  Taylor's  writings  are 
thoroughly  admirable.  It  is  only  to  be  wished  that  this 

lHoxie,  Trade  Unionism  in  the  United  States,  p.  305. 


THE  CULTURAL  INCIDENCE  OF  THE  MACHINE    341 

idealism  were  based  upon  a  philosophy  that  could  stand  the 
test  of  intensive  criticism. 

Underlying  the  language  of  Taylor  and  his  followers  is 
the  assumption  of  a  "  code  of  natural  laws  equally  binding 
upon  employers  and  workmen  ",  not  made  by  men  and  hence 
beyond  human  power  to  change,  a  code  furthermore  that  can 
be  established  in  definite  scientific  fashion  independent  of 
human  temperaments,  prejudices,  or  emotional  reactions. 
Through  the  study  of  time  and  motion  it  is  possible  to  for- 
mulate these  laws  and  when  they  are  thus  formulated  justice 
becomes  merely  a  matter  of  their  scientific  application  to  the 
relations  of  the  worker  and  his  employer.  Furthermore,  these 
purely  mechanical  elements  of  space,  time,  motion,  and  energy 
provide  us  with  a  measure  of  values  by  which  moral  worth, 
intelligence,  promotion,  distribution  of  profits  and  the  thou- 
sand and  one  matters  of  purely  ethical  import  can  be  settled. 
Certainly  modern  life  exhibits  no  more  nai've,  and  we  might 
almost  say  pathetic,  confidence  in  the  omnipotence  of  the  ma- 
chine to  solve  all  our  problems.  There  is  in  fact  something 
in  this  enthusiasm  of  the  scientific  manager  for  the  material 
principles  underlying  the  machine  process  that  reminds  one 
of  the  amor  intellectualis  del  of  Spinoza.  After  having  laid 
the  ghost  of  the  political  and  ethical  absolute  that  masqueraded 
under  the  form  of  natural  rights  we  are  met  by  another  abso- 
lute, tricked  out  this  time  in  all  the  trappings  of  the  modern 
scientific  laboratory. 

In  the  claims  of  scientific  management  stand  revealed  all 
the  weaknesses  inherent  in  the  philosophy  of  the  machine. 
It  fails  to  distinguish  the  mechanical  and  material  from  the 
purely  human.  So  far  as  the  merely  mechanical  elements  in 
time  and  motion  are  concerned,  scientific  management  pos- 
sibly has  much  to  give  us.  The  conclusion  of  an  authoritative 
critic,  however,  is  that  even  here  scientific  method  is  "  not 
capable  of  yielding  objective  results,  uninfluenced  or  unin- 
fluenceable  by  human  will  and  judgment  ".*  Hoxie  gives 
no  less  than  seventeen  factors  affecting  time  and  motion 

1  Hoxie,  Trade  Unionism  in  the  United  States,  p.  312. 


342  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

studies  that  can  not  be  reduced  to  exact  scientific  terms. 
True  to  the  spirit  of  the  philosophy  of  the  machine,  scien- 
tific method  treats  the  qualitative  phase  of  human  experience, 
to  which  belongs  the  field  of  ethics  as  well  as  of  religion, 
as  practically  non-existent.  Instead  of  scientific  management, 
therefore,  being  the  embodiment  of  justice  and  equity  its 
arbitrary  and  mechanical  handling  of  these  delicate  situations 
where  human  rights  are  concerned  may  make  it  the  very 
incarnation  of  injustice. 

§  4.   THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  SOCIAL  ORGANISM 

The  philosophy  of  the  machine  must  take  precedence 
in  every  form  of  economic  determinism.  For  if  man's 
ideals,  ethical,  political,  artistic,  religious,  or  what  not,  are 
shaped  in  the  main  by  those  activities  that  are  concerned 
with  the  satisfaction  of  fundamental  needs  such  as  food, 
drink,  clothing,  shelter,  it  follows  that  the  machine  process 
built  up  in  the  satisfaction  of  these  needs  must  condition 
our  philosophy  of  life.  Socialists  of  the  Karl  Marx  school 
have  not  been  able  to  escape  this  implication  of  their 
philosophy  in  spite  of  their  broad  humanitarianism  and  their 
repudiation  of  the  outworn  individualism  and  natural  rights 
of  classical  economists  and  the  average  business  man. 

The  same  criticism  applies  to  the  brilliantly  suggestive 
writings  of  Professor  Thorstein  Veblen  who  contends  that 
the  machine  process,  while  not  the  only  factor  concerned,  is 
the  dominant  force  in  modern  society.  He  argues  that  the 
machine  process  has  divided  society  into  two  groups,  the 
pecuniary  and  the  industrial,  that  are  unsympathetic  and  un- 
alterably opposed;  it  has  caused  moral  anarchy  by  rendering 
nugatory  the  norms  of  natural  rights  underlying  the  law  and 
the  social  conscience  through  the  creation  of  a  new  industrial 
order  in  which  these  norms  have  no  meaning;  while  discredit- 
ing ancient  loyalties  in  ethics  and  religion  the  machine  offers 
us  instead  no  constructive  program  for  the  future;  it  forces 
men  to  think  in  terms  of  the  opaque,  unteleological  and  un- 
moral principles  of  mechanical  causation.  Veblen  closes  his 


MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  SOCIAL  ORGANISM      343 

chapter  on  "  Civilization  and  the  Machine  Process  "  with  this 
language:  "The  machine  discipline,  however,  touches  wider 
and  wider  circles  of  the  population,  and  touches  them  in  an 
increasingly  intimate  and  coercive  fashion.  In  the  nature  of 
the  case,  therefore,  the  resistance  opposed  to  this  cultural 
trend  given  by  the  machine  discipline  on  grounds  of  conceived 
conventions  weakens  with  the  passage  of  time.  The  spread  of 
materialistic  matter-of-fact  preconceptions  takes  place  at  a 
cumulatively  accelerating  rate,  except  in  so  far  as  some  other 
cultural  factor,  alien  to  the  machine  discipline,  comes  in  to 
inhibit  its  spread  and  keep  its  disintegrating  influence  within 
bounds  "-1  This  pessimistic  conclusion  is  inevitable  once  we 
set  out  with  the  assumption  of  the  dominance  of  the  machine 
factor  in  society. 

It  is  true,  as  the  economic  determinist  contends,  that  one's 
beliefs,  habits  of  thought  or  social  sympathies  are  the  corre- 
latives largely  of  his  activities  in  the  satisfaction  of  economic 
needs.  The  group  that  depends  upon  income  and  profits  for 
a  livelihood  will  in  so  far  forth  have  a  different  social  ethics 
from  the  group  that  depends  upon  a  daily  wage.  But  the 
economic  determinist  is  open  to  two  criticisms.  First,  he  re- 
solves every  phase  of  the  individual's  environment  back  into 
the  economic  element  or  else  makes  the  economic  element 
paramount,  and  secondly  he  ignores  or  minimizes  the  elements 
of  custom  and  tradition.  Man  is  an  animal,  to  be  sure,  and 
like  all  animals  concerned  with  the  problem  of  material  needs. 
But  man  is  also  more  than  an  animal.  He  has  other  interests 
than  the  immediate  one  of  getting  a  living,  such  as  religion, 
morals,  art,  education,  and  science.  Furthermore,  the  imme- 
diate problem  of  getting  a  living  is  concerned  with  the  present 
and  indirectly  with  the  future.  But  every  individual  is 
molded  in  countless  ways  by  the  sentiments,  ideals,  social 
customs  and  institutions  that  have  come  down  from  the  past. 
He  clings  to  these  even  when  they  complicate  the  immediate 
problem  of  getting  a  living.  How  can  economic  determinism 

1Veblen's  theory  of  the  machine  process  is  set  forth  in  his  Theory 
of  Business  Enterprise,  Chaps.  Ill  and  IX,  and  The  Instinct  of  Work- 
manship, Chap.  VII. 


344  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

explain  the  long  and  expensive  and  dangerous  journey  made 
by  the  Moslems  of  Southern  Russia  to  Mecca  to  visit  the  tomb 
of  the  Prophet? 

There  is,  however,  back  of  the  contention  of  Veblen  and 
others  that  society  is  dominated  by  the  materialistic  philosophy 
of  the  machine  a  more  fundamental  assumption.  This  con- 
tention implies  that  the  stupendous  fabric  of  the  machine 
process  not  only  stands  in  intimate  and  organic  relation  to 
society  but  also  that  in  and  through  it  the  real  trend  of  social 
evolution  is  suggested.  We  have  seen  that  the  machine 
process  has  facilitated  combination  and  mutualization  to  an 
unprecedented  degree.  It  has  encouraged  specialization  of 
function;  through  its  infinite  diversity  opportunities  for  vary- 
ing talents  have  been  increased.  It  has  introduced  stratifi- 
cations and  groupings  of  society  unequalled  in  their  richness 
by  any  other  age.  But  the  question  may  well  be  raised  as 
to  whether  the  present  dominance  of  the  machine  is  real  or 
artificial.  Is  it  merely  something  that  has  been  superinduced 
in  more  or  less  hasty  and  irrational  fashion  upon  human  civili- 
zation within  the  last  century  or  does  it  represent  a  permanent 
and  healthful  development?  This  question  is  of  vital  interest 
for  the  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  machine  process  to 
the  social  conscience. 

In  organic  evolution  differentiation  of  parts  and  functions 
goes  hand  in  hand  with  closer  integration  of  the  parts  in  one 
whole.  This  law  seems  to  hold  not  only  as  we  mount  from 
the  amoeba  to  man  but  also  in  the  slow  ascent  from  the  horde 
to  democracy.  Tested  by  this  law,  modern  industrial  so- 
ciety seems  to  be  an  organic  development.  For  we  have  seen 
how  the  standardization  through  machine-made  units  has  made 
possible  an  infinite  variety  of  activities  together  with  the  most 
delicate  balance  and  interdependence  in  the  articulation  of 
the  different  parts  in  the  industrial  world.  Must  we,  there- 
fore, conclude  that  the  machine  process  as  at  present  consti- 
tuted is  an  organic  development?  Not  necessarily,  for  there 
is  another  test  of  a  living  organism,  namely,  the  presence 
everywhere  of  one  common  life  process.  In  the  higher  or- 


MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  SOCIAL  ORGANISM       345 

ganism  that  common  life  is  symbolized  by  the  blood  that  freely 
circulates  and  vitalizes  all  the  parts.  The  industrial  order 
must  measure  up  to  this  test  before  it  can  justly  claim  to  be 
a  living  organism. 

The  vitalizing  principle  of  industry  is  labor.  In  business 
enterprise  the  driving  force  is  pecuniary,  namely,  profits. 
But  neither  of  these  can  provide  us  with  the  principle  that 
vitalizes  human  relationships  in  their  last  analysis.  The  life 
of  a  democratic  society,  and  of  the  machine  process  as  an 
integral  part  of  that  society,  must  be  found  in  community  of 
ideals,  in  a  body  of  intelligent  and  effective  social  sentiment. 
In  a  democracy,  in  particular,  science,  education,  law,  govern- 
ment, as  well  as  the  vast  and  intricate  technology  developed 
in  connection  with  industry,  are  subordinated  to  the  one  su- 
preme test  of  a  common  social  point  of  view,  the  acknowledge- 
ment of  a  body  of  authoritative  norms,  without  which  we  are 
left  at  the  mercy  of  human  passions  or  the  blind  play  of  brute 
force.  Judged  from  this  point  of  view  it  can  hardly  be  said 
that  the  industrial  order,  as  at  present  constituted,  is  either  an 
organic  unit  in  itself  or  organically  related,  as  it  should  be, 
to  other  phases  of  the  social  order.  It  is  a  familiar  fact,  al- 
luded to  in  an  earlier  chapter  on  the  Great  Society,  that  there 
are  large  areas  of  the  modern  business  life  that  have  not  yet 
been  brought  under  the  control  of  the  social  conscience.  Fur- 
thermore, there  are  other  phases  of  life  in  which  the  ethical 
standards  are  higher  than  in  business.  This  is  frankly  ad- 
mitted when  it  is  asserted  that  business  scorns  sentiment.  The 
opposition  that  the  machine  process  has  raised  is  due  to  the 
failure  to  vitalize  it  with  an  efficient  and  intelligent  social 
conscience.  The  machine  process  in  and  of  itself  has  infinite 
potentialities  for  human  betterment.  But  to  seek  in  the  prin- 
ciple of  physical  causation  upon  which  it  is  built  the  measure 
of  values  for  its  use  and  the  philosophy  that  is  to  provide 
us  with  the  driving  force  of  society  as  a  whole  is  grievous 
injustice  to  the  machine  process  itself.  The  trellis  that  bears 
the  vine  may  be  coherent  and  logically  articulated  but  in  and 
of  itself  it  is  dead,  inert,  a  gaunt  and  unlovely  skeleton.  When 


346  MECHANISM  AND  MORALS 

its  firm  and  logical  framework  has  been  appropriated  by  the 
vine  it  becomes  eloquent  with  the  beauty  and  freshness  of 
an  expanding  organism.  Its  mechanical  form  is  gathered  up 
into  the  higher  life  of  the  vine  and  gains  a  new  significance 
because  it  serves  this  higher  life.  Much  in  the  same  way 
must  we  conceive  of  the  function  of  the  vast  mechanical  frame- 
work of  the  machine  process  in  the  social  organism.  It  is 
here  to  serve,  not  to  rule  the  life  of  man. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

§  i.   THE  SUBORDINATION  OF  THE  WORKER  TO  THE  MACHINE 

IT  is  worth  while  examining  more  in  detail  the  effect  of  the 
machine  process  upon  the  character  and  the  point  of  view  of 
the  industrial  worker.  In  the  old  days  of  the  skilled  worker 
his  pride  in  his  craftsmanship  was  a  spur  to  efficiency;  it  was 
the  basis  for  a  genuine  group  conscience.  The  system  of  ap- 
prenticeship was  the  disciplinary  method  for  training  the 
prospective  worker  in  the  ideals  and  methods  of  the  group. 
To-day  both  the  old-fashioned  skilled  worker  and  the  system 
of  apprenticeship  are  gone,  thanks  to  the  spread  of  the  ma- 
chine industry.  For  the  old  incentive  of  craftsmanship  has 
been  substituted  the  pecuniary  appeal  of  a  wage  as  machine- 
tender.  When  the  offer  of  higher  wages  tempted  the  young 
apprentice  to  break  his  contract,  the  old  system  of  apprentice- 
ship was  doomed.  With  the  break-down  of  apprenticeships 
came  the  distribution  of  the  workers  to  the  different  kinds  of 
machines  under  the  guidance  of  shop  managers.  The  worker 
then  became  an  "  operator  ";  his  work  supplemented  that  of 
the  machine.  The  next  step  was  the  creation  of  the  "  fool 
proof "  machine,  which  meant  the  transfer  of  brains  and 
ingenuity  to  the  office,  leaving  for  the  individual  worker  a 
minimum  of  mechanical  movements  assimilated  as  closely  as 
possible  to  the  machine.  Thus  was  drawn  a  line  of  demarka- 
tion  between  those  in  the  office  who  work  with  their  brains 
and  those  in  the  mill  whose  mental  initiative  is  delimited  by 
the  demands  of  a  fixed  mechanical  process.  Opportunity  for 
initiative  and  the  arousal  of  interest  are  thereby  reduced  to  a 
minimum.  The  worker  becomes  the  human  satellite  of  an 
impersonal  machine.  His  genius  is  made  to  fit  the  repetitious, 

347 


348      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

predetermined  round  of  a  causal  sequence  devised  by  another 
man's  brain. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  imagine  that  this  gradual  subor- 
dination of  the  worker  to  the  machine  was  an  unmitigated 
misfortune.  In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  born  in  mind  that 
there  is  no  necessary  and  fundamental  antagonism  between 
the  machine  process  and  human  ingenuity.  Whatever  evil 
there  is  in  the  machine  process  would  seem  to  be  due  to  its 
misapplication  rather  than  to  its  inherent  constitution.  For 
the  introduction  of  the  machine  has  increased  the  command 
over  the  raw  material  and  made  man  the  master  of  his 
physical  environment.  The  substitution  of  the  machine 
means,  at  least  theoretically,  that  so  much  human  energy  has 
been  set  free  for  the  pursuit  of  higher  ends.  This  is  particu- 
larly noticeable  in  the  disappearance  of  unskilled  labor. 
Formerly,  in  plants  of  the  synthetic  type  such  as  steel  mills, 
blast  furnaces  and  paper  mills,  unskilled  labor  was  used  in 
handling  the  material.  But,  thanks  to  the  introduction  of 
conveying  machinery,  this  use  of  the  laborer  as  a  draft  animal 
is  largely  disappearing.  The  logical  result  of  this  should  be 
the  increased  employment  of  men  and  women  in  ways  that 
call  out  their  higher  powers. 

Two  great  classes  of  productive  work  have  thus  far  re- 
sisted the  dominion  of  the  machine,  the  so-called  "  sweated 
industries  "  and  intellectual  and  artistic  activities.  The  latter 
from  the  nature  of  the  case  will  never  be  taken  over  by  the 
machine.  The  former  are  the  product  of  "  arrested  develop- 
ment "  in  the  economic  order.  A  combination  of  forces  such 
as  immigration,  the  sudden  transition  from  the  agricultural  to 
the  manufacturing  stage  as  in  the  South,  the  laying  off  of 
workers  owing  to  inventions,  the  exodus  of  the  woman  from 
the  home  to  the  factory,  ensures  a  constant  supply  of  cheap 
labor,  thus  making  it  unprofitable  for  the  entrepreneur  to 
introduce  machinery.  "  Economic  and  social  progress  de- 
mands the  destruction  of  these  arrested  developments:  sani- 
tary and  other  humanitarian  legislation  should  harry  the 
sweating  den;  technical  and  general  education  should  implant 


SUBORDINATION  OF  WORKER  TO  MACHINE       349 

more  skill  and  evoke  more  wants;  trade  organization,  where 
practicable,  should  make  for  higher  wages  and  other  improved 
conditions  of  employment  'V  In  order  to  save  this  type  of 
labor  from  its  inherent  weaknesses  it  must  be  absorbed  into  the 
machine  process. 

Not  only  does  the  machine  process  tend  to  emancipate  the 
worker  from  many  forms  of  drudgery  and  exhausting  toil;  it 
has  also  raised  the  level  of  his  intelligence.  The  machine,  to 
be  sure,  demands  that  the  worker  must  subordinate  himself 
to  it.  But  to  do  this  successfully  requires  a  measure  of  intel- 
ligence and  previous  training.  The  modern  machine  worker 
must  be  a  master  of  a  body  of  general  technological  knowl- 
edge not  at  all  necessary  under  the  old  domestic  economy. 
This  body  of  knowledge  is  constantly  increasing,  both  inten- 
sively and  extensively.  This  is  strikingly  illustrated  in  the 
matter  of  illiteracy.  Contrast  the  worker  of  to-day  with  the 
handicraftsman  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  Illiteracy  did  not 
debar  the  latter  from  membership  in  a  skilled  trade  while 
to-day  it  is  a  very  distinct  handicap.  The  knowledge  now 
required  in  many  skilled  occupations  is  of  such  a  character 
that  it  can  no  longer  be  picked  up  in  the  daily  routine,  a  fact 
that  is  being  recognized  by  the  introduction  of  technical  train- 
ing into  the  schools.  Finally,  the  machine  with  its  emphasis 
upon  law,  exactitude  and  continuity  may  be  said  to  have  a 
certain  educative  value.  The  fundamental  defect  of  the  ma- 
chine as  an  educator,  however,  is  its  hopeless  conservatism. 
Where  there  is  nothing  to  relieve  this  conservatism  it  tends  to 
dehumanize  the  worker. 

In  spite  of  these  advantages  the  tendency  of  the  ma- 
chine process  to  dehumanize  the  activity  and  status  of  the 
worker  gave  rise  inevitably  to  discontent,  loss  of  interest  in 
work,  clashes  between  employer  and  employee,  and  the  trade 
union.  Those  having  the  direction  of  the  industrial  system, 
now  grown  to  vast  proportions,  recognized  in  a  vague  way  that 
something  was  wrong.  The  more  enlightened  employer  began 
to  assume  a  paternalistic  attitude  towards  the  worker.  Elabo- 

1  Hobson,  The  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  p.  412. 


350      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

rate  systems  of  welfare  work  were  devised  and  with  the  best 
of  intentions.  Too  often,  however,  the  well-meaning  employer 
found  to  his  discouragement  and  disgust  that  the  worker 
merely  used  this  improvement  of  his  position  to  stage  the 
inevitable  strike.  Labor  turnover,  the  indisputable  sign  of 
industrial  maladjustment,  grew  until  it  amounted  in  some 
cases  to  600  percent  yearly.  Under  the  leadership  of  men  like 
Mr.  Ford  this  labor  turnover  was  reduced  by  a  system  of 
bonuses  and  profit-sharing.  But  this  was  met  with  the  dif- 
ficulties due  to  competition  and  the  handicap  of  the  smaller 
as  opposed  to  the  larger  firms.  It  was  found  also  that  reduc- 
ing the  labor  turnover  does  not  necessarily  increase  the  out- 
put. Finally  came  the  scientific  manager.  He  sought  to 
subject  the  whole  problem  to  expert  analysis.  The  worker's 
every  movement  was  studied,  as  though  he  were  in  a  psy- 
chological laboratory,  to  eliminate  waste  of  time  and  energy. 
Much  valuable  knowledge  was  in  this  way  accumulated.  But 
the  worker  was  singularly  indifferent  at  first  and  later  devel- 
oped a  distinct  antipathy  to  having  a  stop-watch  held  over 
him.  The  scientific  employment  expert,  in  spite  of  his 
valuable  contributions  to  certain  phases  of  the  problem,  has 
not  solved  it.  From  the  nature  of  the  case  he  could  not  solve 
it  since  he  approached  his  problem  from  the  standpoint  of 
increasing  the  efficiency  of  the  worker,  not  so  much  in  the 
interest  of  the  worker  as  in  the  interest  of  greater  output  and 
the  ultimate  attainment  of  the  end  of  all  business  enterprise, 
namely,  profits.  The  problem  can  never  be  solved  without 
some  appreciation  of  the  disciplinary  effect  of  the  machine 
process  upon  the  instinctive  equipment  and  the  moral  char- 
acter of  the  worker  himself. 

§  2.   THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  INSTINCTS 

An  understanding  of  the  cultural  significance  of  the  ma- 
chine process  for  the  character  of  the  worker  must  keep  in 
mind  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  as  outlined  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter.  It  was  found  that  the  outstanding  trait  of 
the  machine  is  its  tendency  to  standardize.  Because  it  en- 


THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  INSTINCTS     351 

forces  exact  mechanical  measurements  and  units  in  every 
phase  of  life  the  machine  encourages  an  impersonal,  non- 
moral,  materialistic,  sceptical,  and  undevout  frame  of  mind 
wherever  it  is  permitted  to  dominate.  We  have  now  to 
examine  the  effect  of  this  mechanical  standardization  upon  the 
human  material  in  the  machine  industries. 

It  is  of  course  obvious  that  in  no  mechanical  occupation, 
even  the  most  exacting,  does  the  machine  ever  completely 
dominate  the  worker.  For  he  will  still  remain  human  in 
that  there  will  always  be  present  aptitudes,  temperamental 
traits,  beliefs,  and  "  sets  "  of  the  emotional  life  carried  over 
from  other  fields  of  experience  that  will  effectively  resist  the 
mechanizing  effect  of  his  work.  Furthermore,  just  as  in  the 
old  days  of  the  handicraftsman  with  his  tool,  the  worker  will 
always  stand  above  and  superior  to  his  machine.  He  must 
start  and  stop  it,  correct  its  defects,  mend  its  broken  parts. 
In  the  case  of  the  more  intelligent  worker  improvements  may 
be  suggested  in  its  structure  and  working.  But  there  is  a 
fundamental  difference  between  the  worker  of  to-day  and 
that  of  the  days  of  the  handicrafts.  The  worker  to-day  is 
only  part  of  a  comprehensive  mechanical  process,  the  purpose 
and  methods  of  which  set  metes  and  bounds  to  his  actions. 
No  act  of  his,  however  intelligent,  but  must  find  its  place  in 
this  predetermined  scheme.  The  individual  manipulator  of  a 
machine  in  a  great  shoe  factory  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  general 
process  of  which  he  and  his  particular  machine  are  merely 
parts.  The  general  process  actually  standardizes  and  delimits 
his  thought.  His  ideas  must  fall  within  the  fixed  mechanical 
units  of  grade,  weight,  size,  demanded  by  the  machine 
process.  The  intelligence  of  the  worker  is  not  necessarily 
lowered  or  dwarfed  by  the  machine.  It  is,  however,  very  defi- 
nitely limited  to  quantitative  terms  that  make  for  mechanical 
efficiency.  His  thinking  must  center  around  the  fundamental 
principle  of  the  machine,  namely,  a  causal  sequence  that  lends 
itself  to  exact  units  of  measurement.  These  observations  will 
be  abundantly  verified  in  any  standard  work  on  industrial 
management. 


352      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

"  The  great  problem  of  a  manager  in  any  place  ",  writes 
Duncan,  "is  to  introduce  machinery  and  so  to  arrange  the 
work  that  the  unskilled  worker  will  be  unnecessary  and  the 
call  for  the  highly  skilled  man  will  be  small  'V  The  unskilled 
worker  is  unprofitable  because  his  work  is  exhausting  and 
monotonous  and  the  type  of  work  does  not  justify  giving  a 
wage  that  will  attract  alert  men.  He  realizes,  furthermore, 
that  to  lose  his  job  is  no  great  disaster  since  he  can  easily 
find  another  as  good.  The  skilled  laborer  is  undesirable  "  not 
because  his  services  are  not  valuable  but  because  so  much 
depends  on  him".  He  is  independent,  hard  to  get  and  not 
easy  to  manipulate.  Hence,  of  the  three  types,  unskilled, 
mediocre,  and  skilled  workers,  the  mediocre  type  is  preferred 
for  the  following  reason:  only  a  short  apprenticeship  is 
necessary  to  make  him  available;  the  training  his  employer 
has  given  him  makes  him  feel  his  dependence;  by  specializing 
in  one  thing  he  heightens  his  efficiency  and  "  is  thus  able  to 
turn  out  a  larger  product";  being  a  man  of  mediocre  talents 
he  is  less  ambitious  and  hence  less  liable  to  become  discon- 
tented with  his  lot.  The  machine  thus  places  a  premium  upon 
mediocrity  and  uniformity  because  from  its  very  nature  it 
must  standardize  the  human  element.  Standardization  means 
economy  and  profits,  and  profits  is  the  end  of  the  business 
enterprise  which  the  machine  process  serves. 

What  is  the  effect  of  the  standardization  demanded  by 
the  machine  upon  the  instincts  of  the  worker?  Consider  the 
instinct  of  self-assertion,  the  impulse  to  stand  out  from  the 
group,  to  live  one's  own  life.  This  is  basic  in  the  develop- 
ment of  personality.  It  is  obvious  that  insistence  upon  uni- 
formity and  the  constant  approximation  of  the  individual 
worker  to  the  demands  of  an  impersonal  mechanical  process 
tend  to  repress  and  impoverish  this  instinct.  The  adventurous 
and  dramatic  career  of  the  entrepreneur  or  the  "  captain  of 
industry ",  with  his  almost  unlimited  opportunities  for  the 
development  of  the  instinct  of  self-assertion,  is  denied  the 
humble  worker.  The  daring  strokes  of  the  man  of  big  busi- 

1  The  Principles  of  Industrial  Management,  p.  206. 


ness  that  dazzle  the  world  are  as  a  rule  only  possible  because 
he  stands  upon  the  shoulders  of  thousands  of  standardized 
workers.  Their  freedom  is  the  price  society  pays  for  his 
adventurousness . 

Closely  associated  with  the  instinct  of  self-assertion  is  the 
instinct  of  self-repression.  It  plays  a  most  powerful  role  in 
the  shaping  of  character.  Because  of  it  men  are  born  with 
a  tendency  to  bow  before  whatever  wins  their  admiration  or 
meets  the  need  for  authority.  It  is  closely  associated  with 
reverence  which  lies  at  the  heart  of  religion.  It  assures 
obedience  to  law,  the  preservation  of  custom  and  tradition. 
Upon  it  rests  to  a  large  extent  the  institutional  life  of  society. 
The  machine  process  finds  that  this  instinct  tends  to  further 
its  ends.  For  the  effort  to  standardize  obviously  finds  a  ready 
ally  in  the  instinctive  impulse  to  submit  to  authority.  One 
can  be  easily  drilled  into  dependence  upon  a  fixed  rule  of 
thumb.  The  referring  of  responsibility  to  those  higher  up 
easily  becomes  a  matter  of  second  nature.  Furthermore,  fear 
of  losing  a  job  and  of  being  thrown  back  upon  insufficient 
resources  for  support  is  always  more  or  less  present,  especially 
among  non-union  workers.  The  tragic  effect  of  fear  upon 
personality  is  all  too  familiar.  It  encourages  a  subservient 
or  else  a  suspicious  and  embittered  mental  attitude  that  effec- 
tually prevents  the  worker  from  bringing  to  the  service  of  the 
community  the  full  and  glad  and  free  expenditure  of  his  best 
energies.  The  problem  is  still  further  complicated  by  other 
factors  in  the  worker's  life.  He  belongs  to  a  class  whose 
physical  energies  are  subjected  day  after  day  to  an  exhaustive 
drain.  At  the  close  of  the  day  or  the  week  he  has  little  energy 
or  interest  for  grappling  with  the  problems  that  concern  his 
group.  For  it  is  a  tragic  fact  that  the  group  suffering  the  most 
seldom  makes  the  most  vigorous  fight  for  its  rights.  The 
mass  of  peasantry  wandering  like  dumb  cattle  over  the 
fields  of  France  suffered  far  worse  than  the  tiers  itat  of  the 
towns  and  cities  but  it  was  this  latter  class  that  initiated  the 
new  order.  It  would  seem  that  a  certain  amount  of  surplus 
energy  and  a  measure  of  economic  independence  is  necessary 


354      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

to  the  sane  and  healthful  self-assertion  without  which  no  group 
can  maintain  its  rights  in  the  community. 

Of  fundamental  importance  is  the  effect  of  the  machine 
process  upon  the  instinct  of  acquisitiveness  that  underlies  the 
institution  of  property.  The  impulse  to  accumulate  is  shared 
by  man  with  the  animals;  it  is  seen  in  the  squirrel,  in  the 
ant  and  in  the  bee.  The  virtues  of  thrift  and  providence  that 
spring  from  this  instinct  have  doubtless  been  emphasized  by 
the  demands  of  cold  and  inhospitable  climates.  There  is  no 
reason  to  assume,  however,  that  after  the  necessities  of  life 
have  been  met  and  a  decent  standard  of  life  assured  that  the 
average  man  is  naturally  inclined  to  find  his  chief  end  in  the 
amassing  of  possessions.  The  exaggerated  gratification  of  this 
instinct  of  acquisitiveness,  which  more  than  anything  else  has 
contributed  to  the  materialistic  tinge  of  modern  life,  is  due 
mainly  to  the  effect  of  the  machine  process.  Machine  produc- 
tion has  increased  to  a  fabulous  extent  the  power  to  own 
things.  It  has  provided,  especially  for  the  entrepreneur,  un- 
limited opportunities  for  easy  accumulation  of  a  mass  of  goods. 
Hence,  machine  production  tends  to  obscure  the  joy  of  crea- 
tive effort  and  to  fix  the  attention  upon  the  possibilities  for 
possession.  This  instinctive  desire  to  possess  finds  ready 
affiliation  with  other  instincts  such  as  rivalry  and  those  pow- 
erful predatory  impulses  that  prompt  the  hunter  and  the 
sportsman.  The  cheapest  way  to  get  possession  of  things  is 
by  capture,  the  way  of  the  hunter.  Hence,  by  a  curious  evo- 
lution business  enterprise  becomes  a  struggle  for  ownership  in 
which  the  object  is  to  invest  as  little  capital  or  expend  as  little 
energy  as  possible  and  at  the  same  time  to  capture  the  largest 
returns.  The  result  is  that  the  intention  of  worker  as  well  as 
of  business  man  is  not  so  much  the  creation  as  the  exploitation 
of  wealth.  To  get  something  cheap,  that  is,  with  as  little 
expenditure  of  time,  energy  or  money  as  possible,  comes  very 
near  being  the  dominating  motif  in  the  industrial  world. 

The  industrial  worker,  dominated  as  he  is  by  the  fixed  and 
limited  status  assigned  to  him  in  the  social  order  by  the  ma- 
chine process,  is  by  no  means  so  fortunate  as  the  entrepreneur 


THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  INSTINCTS     355 

in  his  ability  to  gratify  the  instinct  of  ownership.  "  The 
ordinary  manual  worker  lives  in  a  hired  tenement  of  two  to 
five  rooms  which  he  pays  for  by  the  week  and  from  which 
he  may  be  evicted  at  short  notice.  .  .  .  If  in  addition  the 
worker  happens  to  live  in  a  l  company  house '  or  in  a  '  com- 
pany town  '  his  sense  of  empty-handed  impotence  is  intensified 
manifold.  '  Home  '  has  in  this  event  little  permanence  or  emo- 
tional meaning.  The  landlord  employer  owns  the  employee's 
job,  his  house,  perhaps  his  church,  the  streets  and  the  school 
where  his  children  are  being  educated.  What  of  stability, 
security,  tranquil  '  at-homeness '  can  the  tenant  wage-earner 
feel  as  he  smokes  his  pipe  on  the  hired  front  door  steps  which 
overlook  the  mill?  " *  The  suppression  of  this  deep-seated 
property  instinct  is  unfortunate  for  all  concerned  for  upon  it 
depends  to  a  large  extent  civic  spirit,  patriotism  and  regard  for 
law  and  order.  Where  it  is  lacking  the  individual  becomes  the 
easy  victim  of  anti-social  suggestions,  class  prejudice,  and 
corruption. 

In  spite  of  its  inhospitable  environment,  however,  the  prop- 
erty instinct  still  asserts  itself  in  the  worker,  though  often  in 
curiously  distorted  fashion.  The  mill-worker  soon  comes  to 
feel  that  he  "  owns  "  his  machine.  The  unionized  worker  re- 
sists bitterly  the  attempt  to  take  away  his  "  job  "  and  give  it 
to  the  "  scab  ".  He  has  put  into  it  his  best  energies,  perhaps 
he  has  created  it  with  his  methods  and  traditions.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  mill-owner  feels  that  the  entire  plant  is  his. 
He  considers  that  not  only  the  material  equipment  but  the 
time  and  energy  of  the  men  are  his  to  dispose  of  as  he  wishes. 
The  legalized  and  traditional  conception  of  ownership  is  of 
course  with  the  mill-owner.  When  the  worker's  more  or  less 
extra-legal  sense  of  ownership  is  thwarted  and  defeated  it  may 
manifest  itself  in  perverted  fashion  through  sabotage  or  in 
strikes. 

In  general,  the  present  structure  of  the  machine  process 
seems  to  repress  those  instincts  that  look  to  creative  self- 
assertion  on  the  part  of  the  worker  and  to  encourage  those 

1  Ordway  Tead,  Instincts  in  Industry,  p.  77. 


356      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

that  lend  themselves  to  standardization  and  the  submission 
to  authority.  The  worker  is  made  to  feel  that  the  industrial 
order,  as  it  is  at  present,  makes  use  of  the  machine  process 
merely  to  exploit  his  labor  in  the  interest  of  profits.  But  the 
real  problem  lies  deeper.  The  machine  process  has  done  more 
than  make  possible  the  exploitation  of  the  worker;  its  effect  at 
present  is  sternly  to  discount  his  personal  worth,  his  intel- 
lectual and  moral  capacities,  by  cutting  him  off  from  oppor- 
tunities for  creative  self-expression  and  the  demonstration  of 
his  social  worth.  This  is  strikingly  illustrated  in  the  separa- 
tion of  craft  knowledge  from  craft  skill  that  is  rapidly  going 
on  under  the  machine  process.  Standardization  of  tools,  ma- 
terials, process,  and  product  now  dominate  wherever  there  is 
machine  production  on  a  large  scale.  It  is  heightened  by  the 
application  of  scientific  management.  Heretofore  there  has 
still  remained  to  the  worker  a  small  store  of  craft  knowledge. 
This  is  now  being  gathered,  systematized  and  doled  out  by  the 
scientific  expert  to  the  worker.  When  this  process  of  monopo- 
lizing and  standardizing  his  special  knowledge  has  been  com- 
pleted, the  last  vestige  of  creativity  will  disappear  and  the 
worker  will  approximate  Aristotle's  definition  of  a  slave, 
namely,  "  an  animated  tool  ". 

Under  the  machine  process  as  at  present  constituted,  there- 
fore, many  of  the  worker's  instincts  do  not  function  normally 
and  naturally  with  the  full  sanction  of  law  and  public  senti- 
ment but  often  in  direct  opposition  to  traditional  conceptions. 
These  instincts  are  deeply  human ;  they  can  not  be  suppressed 
without  creating  discontent,  unrest,  and  sometimes  disaster. 
The  problem,  then,  is  whether  business  with  its  background 
of  ownership  based  upon  contract,  status  and  tradition  rather 
than  actual  creative  work  can  always  ignore  and  trample 
under  foot  these  instincts  so  intimately  connected  with  the 
welfare  of  society.  It  is  not  a  question  of  socialism,  profit- 
sharing,  representation  of  workers  in  business  administration 
or  the  disposal  of  the  products  of  labor.  These  are  possible 
remedies.  The  essential  problem  is  one  of  human  nature. 
Society  seems  faced  with  the  rather  uncomfortable  alterna- 


357 

tives  of  pronouncing  these  natural  and  inevitable  expres- 
sions of  the  acquisitive  and  other  instincts  by  the  worker 
in  the  status  fixed  for  him  by  the  machine  process  as  wrong 
or  of  modifying  the  law  and  the  cultural  incidence  of  the  ma- 
chine process  so  that  they  do  not  conflict  with  the  demands  of 
these  instincts. 

The  maladjustments  which  we  have  found  to  exist  be- 
tween the  machine  process  and  the  instincts  of  the  industrial 
worker  are  not  without  their  parallels  in  society  at  large.  For, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  machine  process  touches  the  life  of  every 
individual  worker  more  or  less.  It  is  to  be  expected  that  the 
complexity,  the  lateness  of  origin,  the  experimental  nature 
and  the  consequent  artificial  nature  of  our  industrial  society 
should  exhibit  maladjustments.  To  be  sure,  they  are  partly 
offset  by  the  great  plasticity  of  man's  instincts.  There 
must  be,  however,  at  least  a  measure  of  correspondence  be- 
tween these  instincts  and  their  environment.  Many  students 
of  the  Great  Society,  created  by  the  machine,  assert  that  the 
correspondence  between  instincts  and  environment  has  been 
disturbed  to  such  an  extent  as  to  threaten  the  sanity  of  society 
itself.  Mr.  Graham  Wallas  thus  describes  the  people  massed 
in  an  industrial  and  urban  center  of  England.  "  The  people 
around  are  from  all  ages  from  infancy  to  dotage;  and  you 
can  see  what  it  is  that  here  stimulates  the  instincts  which  one 
by  one  appear  in  the  growth  of  a  human  being.  The  babies 
are  tugging  at  dirty  india-rubber  teats.  The  sweet  shops  are 
selling  hundredweights  of  bright  colored  stuff  which  excites  the 
appetite  of  the  children  without  nourishing  their  bodies.  That 
pale  faced  boy  first  knew  love,  not  when  he  looked  at  a  girl 
whom  later  he  might  marry,  but  when  a  dirty  picture  post- 
card caught  his  eye  or  he  watched  a  suggestive  film.  His 
dreams  of  heroism  are  satisfied  with  halfpenny  romances,  half 
criminal  and  half  absurd.  Loyalty  and  comradeship  mean 
sticking  to  his  street  gang;  and  the  joy  of  constructive  work 
means  the  money  he  can  get  for  riding  behind  a  van  or  run- 
ning messages  'V 

1  The  Great  Society,  p.  62  f . 


358      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

Our  machine-made  society  seems  to  stimulate  some  in- 
stincts overmuch  while  it  crushes  or  distorts  others.  The 
gregarious  instinct,  for  example,  was  undoubtedly  most  useful 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  human  evolution.  It  served  to  hold 
together  scattered  populations.  Without  it  the  horde,  the 
tribe,  the  state  would  hardly  have  been  possible.  The  great 
increase  of  population,  however,  and  the  herding  together  in 
cities  has  stimulated  the  gregarious  impulse  to  such  an  extent 
that  the  moral  integrity  of  society  is  often  menaced,  as  in  the 
mob,  by  its  power.  Again  the  acquisitive  instinct,  the  poten- 
tialities for  the  gratification  of  which  have  been  increased  to 
a  marvelous  degree  by  the  machine  process,  has  been  empha- 
sized to  such  an  extent  that  it  has  become  in  the  form  of  pro- 
fitism  the  very  driving  force  of  business  enterprise.  While 
the  machine  process  has  harnessed  acquisitiveness,  pugnacity, 
self-abasement  and  other  instincts,  it  has  left  the  powerful 
instinct  of  sex  to  trail  like  a  wild  flower  where  it  will.  It 
was  inevitable,  therefore,  that  it  should  become  the  prey  to 
commercialism.  Trained  as  we  are  to  measure  things  in  terms 
of  the  ethics  of  business  enterprise  this  seemed  entirely  proper. 
Why  should  not  profitism  squeeze  the  last  farthing  from  long 
suffering  human  nature  even  though  in  so  doing  it  must  poison 
one  of  the  most  precious  fountains  of  all  social  good?  Jane 
Addams  well  says  that  we  can  not  expect  young  people  adrift 
in  a  social  order  ruled  by  the  technology  of  the  machine  and 
urged  on  by  profits  to  "  understand  the  emotional  force  which 
seizes  them  and  which,  when  it  does  not  find  the  traditional 
line  of  domesticity,  serves  as  a  cancer  in  the  very  tissues  of 
society  and  as  a  disrupter  of  the  securest  social  bonds  ",1 

Happiness,  according  to  Aristotle,  is  "  an  exercise  of  the 
vital  faculties  in  accordance  with  their  perfect  virtue  or  ex- 
cellence." No  mechanical  structure  of  society,  therefore,  that 
ignores  man's  instinctive  equipment  can  ever  assure  him  hap- 
piness. Such  structure  must  be  more  or  less  the  objectifica- 
tion  of  man's  "  vital  faculties,"  the  convenient  and  effective 
physical  instruments  of  human  needs.  Just  as  the  bloom  on 
1  The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets,  p.  15. 


THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  LABOR  UNION      359 

the  athlete's  cheek,  to  use  one  of  Aristotle's  illustrations, 
indicates  a  harmony  of  forces  in  his  body,  so  contentment  in 
the  social  order  indicates  a  happy  balance  between  the  fixed 
instinctive  heritage  of  man  and  the  environment.  The  ma- 
chine is  the  servant,  not  the  master,  of  man's  "  vital  faculties." 
Where  permanent  and  ineradicable  conflict  arises  between 
man's  instinctive  equipment  and  the  machine  process,  the  lat- 
ter must  yield.  This  enables  us  to  state  the  problem  so  far 
as  man's  instincts  are  concerned.  It  is  the  problem  of  alter- 
ing the  machine  process  so  that  it  neither  represses  nor  over- 
stimulates  these  instincts  but  serves  as  the  efficient  and  nec- 
essary instrument  for  organizing  them  into  the  highest  type 
of  character. 

§  3.   THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  LABOR  UNION 

It  is  in  the  opposition  of  labor  to  scientific  management 
that  the  real  issue  at  stake  between  the  worker  and  the  ma- 
chine process  emerges  most  clearly.  We  have  seen  that  scien- 
tific management  as  represented  by  Taylor  is  a  curious  mix- 
ture of  idealism  with  the  last  refinement  of  the  machine  phil- 
osophy. Social  service  and  humanitarianism  are  blended  with 
the  absolutism  of  natural  laws  beyond  the  power  of  man  to 
change.  Social  justice  is  merely  a  matter  of  the  impartial  ap- 
plication of  these  laws  after  they  have  been  scientifically  de- 
termined through  time  and  motion  studies.  Efficiency  and 
increased  production  sought  by  scientific  management  are  con- 
ceded by  all  to  be  most  desirable;  upon  them  will  rest  in  in- 
creasing measure  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  future  genera- 
tions. It  is,  therefore,  discouraging  to  find  labor  almost  uni- 
formly opposed  to  scientific  management.  Unionism  has  for 
this  reason  been  criticized  as  opposed  to  social  progress.  It 
is  asserted  that  the  union  is  prompted  solely  by  narrow  selfish 
interests. 

On  the  face  of  things  it  would  appear  that  the  union  is 
patterned  after  business  organization.  It  is  a  monopoly  of  a 
commodity,  labor,  and  those  having  it  for  sale  unite  to  control 
the  price  of  their  commodity  and  to  increase  their  bargaining 


360      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

power.  Furthermore,  the  average  worker  does  not  appreciate 
or  understand  scientific  management;  his  leaders  oppose  for 
political  reasons  the  sympathetic  cooperation  between  worker 
and  employer  that  it  demands;  from  sad  experience  the  worker 
has  been  taught  to  distrust  every  move  of  the  employer;  he 
fears  the  Greeks  even  when  bearing  gifts.  Finally,  Taylor 
contends  that  scientific  management,  based  upon  a  harmony  of 
interests  between  employer  and  employe,  is  organized  for  peace 
while  the  union  is  organized  for  war  to  limit  output  in  the 
interest  of  the  worker.  Granting,  as  in  all  probability  we 
should,  that  there  is  an  element  of  truth  in  all  these  factors, 
the  real  issue  must  still  be  sought  in  something  more  funda- 
mental. It  is  nothing  less  than  the  essential  incompatibility 
between  the  philosophy  of  the  machine  and  the  ends  sought  in 
organized  labor.  In  the  analysis  of  the  philosophy  of  the  ma- 
chine it  was  found  that  the  machine  process  exerts  a  disinteg- 
rating and  iconoclastic  influence  upon  the  bonds  that  make 
group  life  possible.  Scientific  management  is  not  possible, 
at  least  in  the  sense  contemplated  by  Taylor,  without  entire 
freedom  to  change  industrial  conditions  wherever  and  when- 
ever newer  and  more  efficient  methods  and  processes  in  pro- 
duction have  been  discovered.  This  places  the  status  of  the 
worker,  his  wage,  his  job,  his  group  ideals  and  his  standard 
of  living,  completely  at  the  mercy  of  every  mechanical  inven- 
tion or  every  improvement  in  method.  He  becomes  merely 
a  human  atom,  embodying  a  certain  amount  of  physical  en- 
ergy, which  must  be  fitted  into  the  arbitrary  and  mechanical 
demands  of  the  machine  process  in  order  to  secure  through 
faithful  obedience  to  the  laws  of  physical  force  the  largest 
production  of  goods.  This  is  equivalent  to  asking  the  worker 
to  sacrifice  his  group  values  in  order  that  society  may  have 
more  goods. 

The  issue  here  raised  is  one  of  fundamental  importance. 
It  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  clash  between  two  phases 
of  reality,  two  measures  of  values,  that  of  the  machine  and 
of  the  group  conscience.  The  machine  process  as  interpreted 
in  scientific  management  functions  at  the  level  of  certain  fixed 


THE  MACHINE  PROCESS  AND  THE  LABOR  UNION      361 

laws  of  nature  such  as  causation.  The  expert  is  constantly 
studying  these  laws  through  time  and  motion  experimentation. 
As  new  tasks,  methods,  variation  in  individual  skill  or  what- 
not are  discovered,  the  worker  is  shifted  from  task  to  task, 
from  group  to  group,  paid  more  or  less,  promoted  or  dis- 
charged according  as  the  economy  of  these  mechanical  laws 
demands  for  the  furthering  of  the  greatest  productive  possi- 
bilities. These  shifts  of  the  worker,  in  order  to  secure  the 
end  sought,  must  not  be  disturbed  by  those  thousand  and  one 
ties  that  bind  him  to  his  fellows  and  make  him  a  morally  re- 
sponsible being.  They  must  be  allowed  to  go  on  and  on  in 
their  impersonal,  unmoral  and  mechanical  pursuit  of  efficiency. 
If  we  deprive  scientific  management  of  this  supreme  right  it 
must  abdicate  its  claim  of  superiority  over  the  old  "  initiative 
and  incentive  "  method.  It  is  then  placed  at  the  mercy  of 
human  wills  and  inclinations.  To  be  sure,  it  will  be  brought 
into  the  field  of  morals  but  at  the  sacrifice  of  its  absolute 
ideal  of  mechanical  efficiency. 

The  worker,  on  the  other  hand,  belongs  not  only  to  this 
level  of  mechanical  law  that  governs  the  machine;  he  knows 
the  love  of  father  and  mother,  of  wife  and  child;  he  belongs 
perhaps  to  a  lodge  or  a  church  and  experiences  the  helpfulness 
of  friends;  he  is  a  citizen  and  interested  in  the  fate  of  democ- 
racy; he  may  have  larger  cultural  interests.  The  union  is 
the  instrument  by  which  these  social  interests  with  all  that 
they  mean  for  mental  and  moral  development,  for  social  worth 
and  self-respect,  are  assured  at  least  a  measure  of  permanence. 
Across  this  precious  fabric  of  human  values  that  we  sum  up 
under  the  vague  term  '  status  '  the  philosophy  of  the  machine, 
with  its  impersonal  and  unmoral  effort  after  productive  effi- 
ciency, cuts  its  way  with  ruthless  disregard  for  the  moral  chaos 
the  machine  creates.  From  the  standpoint  of  its  philosophy 
it  can  consistently  say,  "  None  of  these  things  moves  me." 
Against  the  insidious  attacks  of  the  machine  process  the  worker 
erects  the  barriers  of  the  closed  shop,  collective  bargaining,  and, 
as  a  last  resort,  the  strike.  For  he  realizes  that  when  once  the 
philosophy  of  the  machine  and  profitism  are  allowed  complete 


362       THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

sway  in  the  prosecution  and  application  of  time  and  motion 
studies  or  otherwise  he  must  surrender  all  claims  to  an  inde- 
pendent, influential  and  self-respecting  position  in  the  com- 
munity; social  justice  and  industrial  democracy  become  little 
more  than  an  iridescent  dream. 

The  struggle  that  labor  is  making,  therefore,  is  for  a  social 
status  that  is  not  at  the  mercy  of  the  machine  process  with  its 
mechanical  standardizations.  Labor,  to  be  sure,  is  far  from 
being  a  distinct  functional  group  with  a  common  body  of 
ethical  norms  that  are  accepted  by  all.  There  is  the  greatest 
variety  of  workers  with  diverse  ethical  codes  and  with  points  of 
conflict  as  well  as  of  agreement.  In  fact  the  great  handicap  of 
labor  as  contrasted  with  capital  is  that  the  latter,  thanks  to 
the  impersonal  and  unmoral  logic  of  the  machine  process,  se- 
cures the  close  coordination  of  interests  and  the  effective  prose- 
cution of  common  ends,  whereas  among  the  laboring  groups  the 
presence  everywhere  of  the  human  element  makes  for  diver- 
sity and  prevents  effective  cooperation.  This  wealth  of  human 
interests,  however,  which  seems  such  a  sore  handicap  in  the 
fight  for  recognition,  is  in  reality  labor's  great  asset.  It  keeps 
the  spirit  of  the  labor  movement  in  touch  with  democracy. 
Where  labor  is  thoroughly  organized  and  socially  self-con- 
scious, therefore,  as  in  the  England  of  today,  it  is  no  accident 
that  we  find  it  putting  into  its  program  the  most  advanced 
democratic  principles. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  industrial  democracy,  which 
seems  the  only  solution  of  the  eternal  quarrel  between  capital 
and  labor,  will  never  come  until  both  have  attained  a  com- 
mon social  point  of  view,  a  common  body  of  norms,  in  terms 
of  which  they  are  willing  to  adjust  their  differences.  It 
goes  without  saying,  furthermore,  that  labor  will  never  accept 
the  materialistic  philosophy  of  Mr.  Taylor  and  of  other  ex- 
ponents of  scientific  management  according  to  which  labor  and 
capital  are  to  adjust  their  differences  on  the  basis  of  a  great 
code  of  natural  and  unalterable  laws  superior  to  the  caprice 
of  human  wills.  Labor  is  too  passionately  human  to  submit 
its  fate  to  such  tragic  metaphysical  nonsense.  Finally,  labor 


LAW,  WORKER  AND  MACHINE  PROCESS          363 

is  in  thorough  revolt  against  the  economic  absolutism  of  Adam 
Smith  and  natural  rights,  according  to  which  an  "  invisible 
hand  "  prevents  the  economic  atomism  of  self-interest,  entire 
freedom  of  contract  and  unrestricted  competition  from  disin- 
tegrating the  business  world. 

In  a  democracy  genuine  solidarity  of  sentiment  must  come 
as  the  product  of  human  wills.  If  worker  and  employer  ever 
arrive  at  a  permanent  peace  it  will  be  through  the  free  and 
enlightened  acceptance  of  a  body  of  comprehensive  norms 
of  human  welfare.  In  a  democracy  it  can  not  be  otherwise, 
for,  as  we  have  had  occasion  to  state  repeatedly,  the  social 
conscience  is  only  authoritative  for  free  men  when  it  becomes 
the  law  that  they  themselves  have  accepted  for  the  guid- 
ance of  their  actions.  Evidence  is  not  lacking  that  over  and 
above  the  two  groups  of  capital  and  labor  eternally  pitted 
against  each  other,  a  third  group  with  a  more  or  less  unbiased 
viewpoint  is  taking  shape.  This  group  may  form  the  basis 
for  a  body  of  authoritative  sentiment,  an  enlightened  public 
sentiment,  that  will  not  only  mediate  between  the  contending 
parties  but  will  also  educate  them  in  time  into  an  appreciation 
of  their  common  interests.  This  disinterested  element  is  at 
present  loosely  coordinated  and  lacking  in  the  proper  machin- 
ery for  the  expression  of  its  will  but  it  is  growing  in  power 
and  insight. 


§  4.   THE  LAW,  THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

Most  important  from  the  standpoint  of  ethics  is  the  atti- 
tude that  has  been  encouraged  in  the  mind  of  the  worker,  by 
the  discipline  of  the  machine  process  and  the  Great  Society, 
towards  some  of  the  traditional  norms  of  the  law  and  the  social 
conscience.  As  has  been  suggested  in  an  earlier  chapter, 
the  present  generation  is  dependent  for  the  solution  of  its 
problems  upon  the  accumulated  and  tested  moral  experience  of 
the  past.  This  past  experience  finds  its  authoritative  embodi- 
ment in  the  social  conscience  and  still  more  exactly  in  the  law. 
For  the  settlement  of  the  vexed  questions  relating  to  property, 


364      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

contract,  labor  and  capital,  therefore,  the  community  must  fall 
back  upon  these  earlier  norms. 

An  authoritative  traditional  body  of  norms  is  deeply 
ingrained  in  our  national  life.  In  our  federal  and  state 
constitutions,  in  the  common  law  as  well  as  in  the  conventional 
ethics  of  business,  lies  embedded  the  idea  of  a  fixed  and 
unalterable  body  of  rights  as  to  private  property,  freedom  of 
contract  and  of  competition,  all  rooted  in  an  indefectible 
order  of  nature.  The  function  of  the  law  and  of  govern- 
ment is  merely  to  preserve  intact  these  rights;  when  any 
piece  of  legislation  violates  them  it  is  pronounced  uncon- 
stitutional. This  scheme  of  natural  rights  became  firmly 
lodged  in  the  moral  common  sense  of  English-speaking 
peoples  during  the  eighteenth  century  whence  it  was  absorbed 
by  the  common  law.  These  rights  expressed  the  viewpoint 
for  the  most  of  the  vigorous  middle  class  Englishmen 
living  under  the  old  domestic  economy.  In  this  pre-capi- 
talistic  and  loose- jointed  society  much  depended  upon  free- 
dom of  individual  initiative  and  personal  efficiency.  In- 
dividual merchants  and  employers  of  labor  were  upon  a  more 
or  less  equal  footing  and  even  the  worker  was  free  from  many 
of  the  limitations  of  the  era  of  the  machine.  Under  these  con- 
ditions freedom  of  contract  and  of  competition  and  the  in- 
violability of  private  property  were  in  harmony  with  the  needs 
of  the  existing  social  order.  The  ethics  of  laissez  jaire  made 
for  progess. 

This  philosophy  of  laissez  jaire  had  hardly  received  gen- 
eral acceptance  in  England  when  new  forces,  destined  ulti- 
mately to  culminate  in  the  Great  Society  of  to-day,  were  lib- 
erated by  the  industrial  revolution.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
laissez  jaire  philosophy  with  its  natural  rights  dogma  enjoyed 
in  America  a  longer  sway  than  in  England  since  the  machine 
process  with  its  new  technology  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
affected  this  country  greatly  until  after  the  Civil  War.  The 
doctrine  of  natural  liberty  is  therefore  more  deeply  ingrained 
in  American  institutions.  But  to-day  some  of  the  most  ad- 
vanced forms  of  the  Great  Society  with  its  machine  technology 


LAW,  WORKER  AND  MACHINE  PROCESS  365 

are  to  be  found  in  this  country.  The  result  is  that  eighteenth 
century  ideas  exist  side  by  side  with  a  complete  transforma- 
tion in  the  relations  of  employer  and  employee,  in  the  role 
played  by  capital  and  in  the  entire  structure  of  the  industrial 
order. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  right  of  freedom  of  contract. 
The  common  law  and  the  norms  of  business  ethic  insist  upon 
entire  freedom  of  contract  between  man  and  man.  The  ex- 
treme specialization  produced  by  the  machine  process,  how- 
ever, makes  a  workman's  livelihood  depend  upon  some  one 
job.  The  coercion  of  the  standardized  industrial  order  forces 
him  to  contract  for  that  job  or  go  without  work.  This  coercion 
in  no  way  violates  the  law.  It  is  not  assault  and  battery;  the 
inalienable  right  to  contract  for  the  job  or  not  to  contract  for  it 
is  not  touched.  The  case  lies  outside  the  law  because  the  law 
is  individualistic  and  does  not  contemplate  the  possibilities  of 
restricting  freedom  in  our  modern  highly  mutualized  society. 
The  worker,  sensible  of  his  helplessness  before  the  large-scale 
business  of  the  machine  process,  combines  with  his  fellows  and 
seeks  to  bargain  collectively  for  better  hours  and  wages.  The 
union  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  an  effort  on  the  part  of  the  worker 
to  restore  the  freedom  and  equality  of  bargaining  power  which 
has  been  endangered  through  the  vastly  increased  bargaining 
power  of  the  large-scale  employer.  But  here  arises  at  once  a 
conflict  between  the  inalienable  natural  right  of  each,  whether 
employer  or  employee,  to  contract  when  and  how  and  where 
he  pleases,  and  the  attempt  of  the  union  to  abridge  that  right. 
The  reason  for  this  is  clear.  The  norms  underlying  the  law 
are  derived  from  an  individualistic  society.  This  is  indicated 
by  the  language  of  the  Final  Report  of  the  United  States  Com- 
mission on  Industrial  Relations  for  1915,  pp.  372f,:  "It 
should  be  remembered  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  the  labor 
contract  is  an  individual  contract — a  contract  between  an  in- 
dividual workman  and  an  individual  employer.  Even  if  the 
employer  is  a  corporation  of  thousands  of  stockholders  and 
bondholders,  they  are  treated  as  a  single  individual  for  the 
purpose  of  a  contract.  But  the  law  does  not  usually  recognize 


3 66      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

a  collective  or  joint  agreement  between  a  union  and  an  em- 
ployer or  employers'  association,  as  a  contract.  The  courts 
will  not  usually  enforce  it  as  they  enforce  individual  contracts. 
Such  a  contract,  so  called,  will  not  bind  anybody  by  the  force 
of  law.  A  contract  with  a  trade  union  is  not  a  contract  in 
law — it  is  merely  an  understanding,  or  a  usage,  or  a  joint 
agreement,  that,  when  the  real  labor  contract  is  made  between 
individual  employer  and  employee,  it  will  be  made  according 
to  the  terms  of  the  joint  agreement.  If  an  individual  em- 
ployer breaks  the  agreement  by  hiring  a  workman  on  different 
terms,  the  only  means  that  the  union  has  of  enforcing  the 
agreement  is  that  of  a  strike.  It  is  not  a  breach  of  contract. 
The  union  can  not  usually  get  an  injunction  or  damages  in 
court  on  account  of  the  violation."  To  depart  from  the  indiv- 
idualistic point  of  view  would  be  equivalent  to  subverting  the 
entire  spirit  and  philosophy  of  our  existing  body  of  law.  In 
the  interest  of  consistency  and  of  rational  procedure  those 
entrusted  with  the  interpretation  of  the  law  must  be  true  to 
these  traditions.  "  Until  individualism  shall  cease  to  be  the 
predominant  theory,  the  courts  will  continue  to  hold  union- 
izing wrong.  Unionizing  will  not  become  legal  unless  the 
arguments  for  collectivism  shall  ever  command  the  adherence 
of  the  great  majority  of  men.  If  that  time  comes,  the  law, 
it  seems,  must  regulate  the  admission  to  the  unions  to  which  it 
would  thus  concede  the  control  of  the  labor  market.  For  regu- 
lation, as  we  shall  see  throughout  this  discussion,  is  the  only 
basis  upon  which  monopoly  can  be  permitted.  If,  finally,  the 
law  should  concede  the  closed  shop,  it  very  probably  will  re- 
quire an  open  union  'V 

As  a  result,  therefore,  of  the  conditions  created  by  the 
Great  Society  we  have  this  rather  interesting  situation.  The 
legal  and  ethical  norms  society  must  apply  to  industrial  prob- 
lems reflect  the  individualistic  relations  of  handicraft  industry 
during  the  eighteenth  century  and  do  not  provide  positive  and 
constructive  means  for  settling  difficulties.  The  influence  of 
the  law  is  mainly  negative  and  prohibitory  through  injunc- 

1  Bruce  Wyman,  Control  of  the  Market,  p.  86. 


LAW,  WORKER  AND  MACHINE  PROCESS  367 

tions.  But  the  law  is  not  in  the  position  actually  to  ignore  the 
changed  conditions.  The  forces  of  the  changing  social  order 
are  in  the  end  stronger  than  the  logical  absolutism  of  the  law, 
for,  as  Mr.  Justice  Holmes  has  well  said,  "  The  life  of  the  law 
has  not  been  logic:  it  has  been  experience."  But  being  un- 
able to  shake  itself  free  from  its  earlier  static  and  preevolu- 
tionary  point  of  view  the  law  is  forced  to  secure  justice  by 
ways  that  are  often  round  about  and  disingenuous,  reflecting 
the  varying  opinions  of  judges  and  even  of  different  sections 
of  the  country.  Thus  the  limitations  of  freedom  of  contract 
found  in  the  legislation  as  to  wages,  hours,  conditions  of  work, 
guarding  of  machinery  and  the  employment  of  women  and 
children  tacitly  recognizes  the  vast  inequality  between  the 
large-scale  employer  and  the  average  employee  in  his  ability  to 
accept  or  reject  conditions  of  employment.1  These  limitations 
of  the  right  of  freedom  of  contract  are  justified,  to  be  sure,  as 
exercises  of  the  police  power  or  the  right  of  legislatures  to 
interfere  with  contractual  relations  in  the  interest  of  public 
welfare,  namely,  the  health,  morals,  or  safety  of  life  and  limb 
of  their  citizens.  But  in  spite  of  these  practical  invalidations 
of  freedom  of  contract  in  the  interest  of  public  welfare  the 
law  still  clings  in  theory  to  the  old  absolute  individualistic 
traditions  of  natural  liberty  though  in  so  doing  it  is  guilty  of 
something  that  looks  suspiciously  like  self-stultification. 

The  law,  being  in  spirit  individualistic  and  inclined  to  see 
in  freedom  of  contract  the  Urim  and  Thummim  of  ultimate 
justice  and  right,  finds  itself  unable,  therefore,  to  understand, 
much  less  to  sympathize  with,  the  point  of  view  of  the  unions. 
For  the  unions  are  here  primarily  to  restrict  this  old  individ- 
ualism and  absolute  freedom  of  contract.  From  the  standpoint 
of  common  law,  therefore,  the  unions  are  essentially  illegal. 
Their  very  existence  is  a  challenge  to  the  spirit  and  intent 
of  the  law.  It  should  be  remembered,  therefore,  that  the 
attitude  of  the  courts  towards  labor  is  not  necessarily  born  of 
animosity  for  the  worker  and  the  determination  to  keep  him 

1  See  L.  D.  Clark,  The  Law  of  the  Employment  of  Labor,  pp.  6  f., 
for  cases  in  point. 


368      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

in  subjection.  Even  the  judge  who  is  perhaps  sympathetic 
with  unionism  is  not  in  the  position,  as  the  sworn  and  faithful 
interpreter  of  the  law,  to  do  otherwise  than  condemn  it.  Un- 
fortunately the  average  unionist  does  not  have  this  deeper 
insight  into  the  situation,  and  his  baffled  sense  of  justice  and 
group  aspirations  find  expression  in  the  brutal  ejaculation, 
"  To  hell  with  the  courts  'V 

It  is  apparent,  therefore,  that  the  problem  is  one  of  moral 
maladjustment  at  the  level  of  the  social  conscience  and  those 
basic  norms  of  justice  that  underlie  the  law.  The  vast  and 
complex  system  of  combination  and  standardization  introduced 
by  the  machine  into  every  phase  of  modern  industry  with  the 
complete  alteration  of  the  status  of  the  worker  finds  little  rec- 
ognition in  the  law  and  traditional  ethical  norms.  That  is  to 
say,  the  problems  of  employer  and  employee  due  to  the  rise 
of  large-scale  business  are  not  contemplated  by  the  laws  and 
the  norms  that  are  supposed  to  regulate  such  things.  The 
new  social  order  does  not  fit  into  the  old  philosophy  of  natural 
rights.  The  problems  of  the  new  order  exist  de  facto;  they  do 
not  exist  de  jure.  Looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  law 
and  traditional  ethics,  the  actual  difficulties  are  non-existent. 
Looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  changing  social 
order  that  has  given  rise  to  these  modern  problems  we  may  say 
that  social  evolution  has  invalidated  the  old  norms.  But  to 
invalidate  standards  of  right  is  to  cause  moral  uncertainty 
and  distrust.  Hence,  it  may  be  said  that  the  machine  process 
has  encouraged,  especially  in  the  minds  of  the  workers  who 
feel  most  keenly  the  lack  of  moral  adjustment,  a  sceptical 
attitude  towards  traditional  legal  and  ethical  norms  in  indus- 
trial and  business  relations.  By  being  forced  to  live  day 
after  day  in  situations  in  which  his  moral  sense  is  stultified 
and  outraged  by  the  impotence  and  indifference  of  law  and 
conventional  ethical  standards  the  worker  comes  to  discredit 
them  entirely.  Here,  if  anywhere,  we  are  to  find  the  explan- 
ation of  the  constant  appeal  to  the  strike. 

1  Taken  from  trade  union  literature  by  Hoxie,  Trade  Unionism  in 
the  United  States,  p.  405. 


LAW,  WORKER  AND  MACHINE  PROCESS          369 

In  this  connection  a  comparison  of  the  attitude  of  the 
worker  towards  the  machine  process  with  that  of  the  business 
man  will  prove  most  illuminating.  The  business  man  accepts 
the  traditional  norms  of  the  law  and  of  conventional  ethics 
as  to  these  natural  rights.  Hence,  from  his  point  of  view, 
government  exists  mainly  to  preserve  these  rights  inviolate. 
Wherever  there  is  a  combination  either  of  workers  or  of  other 
business  men  that  disturbs  the  free  play  of  these  rights  of 
property  or  of  contract  we  have  a  condition  that  is  abnormal, 
dangerous  and  contrary  to  nature.  Where  these  rights  are 
maintained  in  their  original  integrity  we  shall  always  have 
social  justice  and  a  harmony  of  all  the  interests  of  society. 
When  a  union  tries  to  enforce  collective  bargaining  it  violates 
the  fundamental  rights  of  the  individual  worker  or  the  indiv- 
idual employer  to  freedom  of  contract.  This  creates  social 
conflict,  business  losses  and  an  unnatural  social  situation. 
When  these  rights  are  threatened  appeal  is  taken  to  the  courts 
for  their  protection.  The  existing  law  and  its  interpreters, 
the  judges,  draw  their  authority  from  the  common  law  that 
embodies  the  social  common  sense  of  the  eighteenth  century 
when  these  ideas  of  unalterable  and  inalienable  natural  rights 
were  the  accepted  political  and  economic  philosophy.  It  is  in 
terms  of  this  background  of  the  common  law  that  the  business 
man  does  his  thinking  and  to  it  he  appeals  in  the  defense  of 
his  rights. 

But  the  business  man  is  also  a  staunch  believer  in  the  ma- 
chine process.  It  has  created  modern  capitalism.  It  has 
made  possible  the  rise  of  the  stupendous  fabric  of  "  big  busi- 
ness." It  is  a  most  effective  instrument  for  the  accumulation 
of  profits.  Without  it  the  dazzling  strokes  of  business  enter- 
prise would  be  impossible.  We  have  seen,  however,  that  the 
philosophy  of  the  machine  process  carries  with  it  implications 
that  are  undermining  the  old  natural  rights  doctrines  as  to 
property,  freedom  of  contract  and  the  like.  The  Great  So- 
ciety created  by  the  machine  has  given  rise  to  a  new  and  evo- 
lutionary conception  of  life  totally  opposed  to  the  old  static 
doctrines  of  natural  rights  embodied  in  law  and  appealed  to 


370      THE  WORKER  AND  THE  MACHINE  PROCESS 

by  the  business  man  in  defense  of  his  rights.  The  business 
man  of  the  conservative  type  is,  therefore,  in  an  uncomfortable 
predicament.  He  must  have  the  old  doctrines  of  rights  to 
keep  his  position  of  vantage  and  of  power  in  the  economic 
system,  yet  he  is  doing  all  in  his  power  to  encourage  the  ma- 
chine process  which  is  rendering  these  rights  meaningless  and 
downright  anti-social.  Thus  the  reactionary  employer  of  labor 
condemns  in  his  workers  a  mental  attitude  he  think  dangerous 
and  subversive  of  property  interests  while  he  continually 
forces  upon  his  workers  a  way  of  life  that  inevitably  educates 
them  into  this  attitude.  To  say  the  least,  such  a  course  on 
the  part  of  those  in  positions  of  power  in  the  business  world 
is  hardly  logical.  Not  all  the  confusion,  not  to  say  moral 
anarchy,  found  in  the  industrial  world  to-day  is  to  be  laid  at 
the  door  of  socialists  or  radical  labor  agitators.  The  most 
dangerous  moral  anarchist  of  all  is  the  unenlightened,  powerful 
and  stubborn  reactionary. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1.  Books :  BROOKS,  J.  G. :  The  Social  Unrest,  Ch.  6,  "  Man  and  So- 
ciety  versus   Machinery";    HENDERSON,   ARTHUR:    The   Aims   of   Labor, 
1917;  HENDERSON,  C.  R. :  Citizens  in  Industry,  1915  (pp.  329  f.  for  bibliog- 
raphy) ;   HOBSON,  J.  A. :   The  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  Chs.  4, 
12-17;    Work  and   Wealth:   A   Human   Valuation,   1914;    HOXIE,   R.   F. : 
Trade    Unionism    in    the    United    States,    1917;    MAROT,    HELEN:    The 
Creative  Impulse  in  Industry,  1918;  MARSHALL,  L.  C. :  Readings  in  Indus- 
trial Society,  Chs.  7,  9,  11;  TAYLOR,  F.  W. :  Principles  of  Scientific  Man- 
agement,    1911;     TEAD,     ORDWAY:     The    Instincts    in    Industry,     1918; 
VEBLEN,  T. :  Theory  of  Business  Enterprise,  Chs.  2,  8,  9;  The  Instinct  of 
Workmanship,  1914;  WEBB,  SIDNEY  and  BEATRICE:  Industrial  D-emocracy, 
2  vols.  1897;  WEBB,  SIDNEY  JAMES:  Works  Manager  To-day,  1917. 

2.  Articles  :  ALEXANDER,  H.  B. :  "  The  Fear  of  Machines."    The  Inter- 
national Journal   of  Ethics,   for   October,    1917 ;    JOSEPH  :    "  Mechanism, 
Intelligence  and  Life."    Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  12,  pp.  612  ff. ;  JACKS,  L.  P. : 
"  Mechanism,  Diabolism  and  the  War."    Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  13,  pp.  29  ff. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE. 

§  i.    BUSINESS  AND  MORALS 

MUCH  could  be  said  for  business  as  a  means  of  moral  disci- 
pline. There  is  a  certain  irreducible  minimum  of  morality 
which  business  must  have  to  exist.  Morality  is  little  more  than 
the  attempt  to  rationalize  the  principles  that  underlie  sane  and 
healthful  human  relations.  Hence  honesty  between  man  and 
man  is  a  prerequisite  to  the  effectiveness  and  persistence  of 
the  economic  order.  Furthermore,  industrialism  has  laid  the 
basis,  broad  and  secure,  for  the  material  welfare  of  man,  as- 
suring to  him  easy  access  to  the  fundamental  necessities  of 
life.  This  enduring  material  foundation  is  necessary  if  the 
superstructure  of  moral  and  spiritual  values  is  to  endure. 
Finally,  the  growing  sense  of  social  solidarity,  due  to  the  un- 
precedented mutualization  of  our  modern  life,  has  brought  the 
individual  into  contact  with  his  fellows  as  never  before,  thus 
enriching  the  moral  experience.  Through  the  Great  Society 
created  mainly  through  trade,  morality  has  taken  on  the 
international  note.  Men  are  beginning  to  realize,  thanks  to 
business  enterprise,  the  ethical  implications  of  the  dictum, 
"  Ye  are  all  members  one  of  another."  The  question,  how- 
ever, may  be  asked  what  are  the  distinctive  contributions  of 
business  to  moral  experience?  Can  we  point  to  virtues  that 
owe  their  importance  mainly  to  the  exigencies  of  the  business 
order? 

In  an  earlier  chapter  the  principle  was  laid  down  that  the 
types  of  virtue  stressed  at  a  given  stage  of  social  evolution  will 
be  intimately  related  to  the  prevailing  social  discipline  at  that 
stage.  If  this  be  true  we  may  expect  the  natural  history  of 
morals  to  reflect  the  gradual  transition  from  the  simple  indus- 
trial situations  of  the  middle  ages  to  the  modern  period  of 

371 


372          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

commerce  and  business  enterprise.  This  we  find  to  be  the 
case.  Under  the  stress  of  business  development  we  detect  a 
tendency  to  shift  the  position  of  the  virtues.  This  is  strikingly 
illustrated  in  the  case  of  the  virtue  of  veracity.  For  it  is 
obvious  that  as  men  become  more  and  more  interdependent 
through  trade  they  are  forced  to  rely  upon  the  fidelity  of  their 
fellows.  Veracity,  therefore,  with  the  related  virtues  of  honesty, 
trustworthiness,  fidelity  and  the  like,  tends  to  take  precedence 
in  the  modern  business  world  over  such  virtues  as  humility,  so 
prized  in  the  middle  ages,  or  the  militant  virtues  of  courage  and 
honor.  Lecky  indeed  asserts,  "  The  promotion  of  industrial 
veracity  is  probably  the  single  form  in  which  the  growth  of 
manufactures  exercises  a  favorable  influence  upon  morals." 
It  is  probable,  however,  that  in  at  least  two  other  respects 
business  has  enriched  the  moral  life,  namely,  in  connection 
with  the  emphasis  of  thrift  and  business  enterprise.  Thrift  is 
the  fruitful  source  of  those  excellencies  of  character  we  asso- 
ciate with  industry,  self-restraint,  order  and  sobriety.  Busi- 
ness enterprise  gives  rise  to  the  more  spectacular  but  usually 
more  dubious  qualities  of  the  speculator  and  the  "  captain  of 
industry."  Business  success  requires  a  combination  of  im- 
aginative power  in  the  grasp  of  the  complex  industrial  situa- 
tion, insight  and  judgment  in  the  evaluation  of  men  and  things, 
courage  and  persistence  in  the  carrying  out  of  ideas,  and 
executive  ability  along  administrative  lines. 

It  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  business  plays  an  influential 
role  in  the  shaping  of  our  ethical  ideals.  Much  can  be  said 
for  the  contention  that  in  so  far  as  the  American  people  have 
any  concrete  embodiment  for  their  national  ideals  it  is  found 
in  the  successful  business  man.  In  every  campaign,  whether 
for  the  presidency  of  the  nation  or  for  the  mayorality  of  an 
obscure  town,  the  highest  recommendation  of  the  candidate  is 
that  he  proposes  to  give  a  "  business  administration."  The 
politician,  whether  on  the  floor  of  Congress  or  at  the  hustings 
before  his  own  people,  knows  no  higher  standard  of  values 
than  "  business  prosperity."  The  scientist  who  receives  the 
plaudits  of  the  masses  is  one  whose  researches  result  in  im- 


THE  ENTREPRENEUR  373 

mediate  and  palpable  improvements  in  "  business  efficiency." 
The  deadliest  criticism  that  can  be  levelled  against  any  move- 
ment, whether  for  moral,  educational,  economic  or  aesthetic 
betterment,  is  that  it  will  "  injure  business."  The  greatest 
compliment  that  can  be  paid  to  a  hospital,  a  musical  conserv- 
atory, a  lunatic  asylum  or  a  university  is  that  it  is  "  run  on  a 
business  basis."  A  church  is  congratulated  when  it  success- 
fully adopts  the  methods  of  business,  though  it  never  occurs 
to  anyone  to  sympathize  with  business  over  its  apparent  in- 
ability to  find  a  place  for  the  ethics  of  the  pulpit. 

§  2.   THE  ENTREPRENEUR 

There  is  of  course  the  greatest  variety  in  our  complex 
modern  business  world.  Examination  will  show,  however, 
that  there  is  a  certain  type  of  business  man,  the  entrepreneur, 
who  occupies  a  central  position.  Standing  as  he  does  between 
land,  labor,  and  capital  on  the  one  hand  and  the  finished  prod- 
ucts and  the  consumer  on  the  other,  his  role  in  the  economic 
order  is  paramount.  He  is  the  general  who  commands  on  the 
industrial  battlefield.  Through  his  leadership  new  fields  are 
opened  for  the  employment  of  idle  capital  and  labor.  The 
entrepreneur  takes  precedence  over  the  technical  expert  such 
as  mining  engineer  or  industrial  chemist,  the  so-called  "  effi- 
ciency experts."  These  men,  to  be  sure,  perform  a  most  im- 
portant work  and  have,  as  a  rule,  command  of  scientific  knowl- 
edge as  well  as  a  sense  of  social  responsibility  and  class  ethics. 
They  have  made  possible  the  marvellous  technical  efficiency 
of  factory  and  mill.  But  above  them  stands  the  entrepreneur 
whose  goal  is  not  economy  and  efficiency  in  solving  the  tech- 
nical problems  of  production  but  skill  in  making  money.  The 
plans  of  the  technical  expert  must  in  every  case  wait  upon 
the  pronouncement  of  the  managing  capitalist  as  to  whether 
they  will  pay.  The  complications  of  the  present  business 
order  have  placed  technical  expert,  investor,  employer  of  labor 
as  well  as  consumer  at  the  mercy  of  the  entrepreneur.  From 
him  comes  the  creative  elan  of  business  enterprise.  His  spirit 
permeates  the  entire  business  world;  men  take  from  him  their 


374          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

standards  of  business  ethics.  This  holds  true  not  only  of 
"  big  business "  but  even  of  the  obscure  and  conventional 
members  of  the  business  community.  For  the  average  man 
the  successful  entrepreneur  possesses  something  of  the  glam- 
our with  which  every  age  surrounds  its  dominant  group.  The 
"  captains  of  industry  "  once  occupied  a  place  in  the  popular 
imagination  similar  to  that  enjoyed  by  the  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table  in  the  Arthurian  legends.  They  were  the  un- 
crowned kings  of  a  new  order  and  being  kings  they  could  do 
no  wrong. 

Notwithstanding  the  favored  and  influential  position  once 
occupied  by  the  entrepreneur  in  the  business  world  there  is 
evidence  that  he  has  not  met  his  responsibilities  and  as  a  re- 
sult is  losing  the  confidence  and  sympathy  of  the  public. 
"  Steeped  in  the  operations  of  trading  which  have  cultivated 
an  entirely  different  attitude  of  mind  from  that  induced  by  the 
tangible  and  definite  operations  of  manufacturing  and  produc- 
tion, the  man  engaged  in  commerce  has  displayed  little  under- 
standing of  the  viewpoint  of  these  other  departments,  and  has 
found  it  impossible  either  to  sympathize  with  or  appreciate  the 
fundamental  changes  which  have  taken  place  therein  ",1  The 
commercial  man  is  keenly  alert  to  new  methods  or  machinery 
that  may  increase  profits.  He  is,  however,  singularly  ignorant 
in  other  ways.  He  fails  to  see  that  the  work  of  the  efficiency 
expert  in  the  mill,  the  spread  of  education  among  the 
workers,  the  extension  of  the  unions,  the  increase  of  knowledge 
and  social  self -consciousness  among  the  masses  of  men  have 
created  a  subtle  transformation  of  public  sentiment  that  is 
opposed  in  many  ways  to  all  those  principles  and  practices 
that  are  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  old  "  captain  of  industry." 
As  these  forces  begin  to  crystallize  into  opinions  and  laws, 
he  feels  in  a  vague,  uneasy  way  that  things  are  not  as  they 
once  were;  without  trying  to  understand  what  it  all  means  he 
is  inclined  to  utter  a  vigorous  howl  of  protest  and  to  brand 
all  who  differ  with  him  as  radicals.  This  reactionary  attitude 
but  encourages  the  growing  distrust,  especially  among  the 

1 H.  Tipper,  The  New  Business,  p.  365. 


THE  ENTREPRENEUR  375 

workers  and  the  proletariat.  They  feel  that  the  commer- 
cial trader  has  deprived  the  workers,  those  who  perform  the 
actual  labor  of  production,  of  the  legitimate  rewards  of  their 
toil.  They  imagine  that  concealed  behind  the  mysteries  of 
the  market  the  trader  forces  both  worker  and  consumer  to  pay 
through  their  economies  for  unjust  gains.  The  enterpreneur 
is  coming  to  be  identified  with  the  profiteer. 

For  this  unfortunate  position  the  entrepreneur  has  only 
himself  to  blame.  Secure  in  his  position  of  power  and  of  privi- 
ilege  and  supported  by  law  and  the  business  traditions  of  free- 
dom of  enterprise  and  inviolable  rights  of  contract  and  of 
property,  he  has  treated  this  change  of  sentiment  with  indif- 
ference or  scorn.  He  has  not  sought  to  educate  the  public  as 
to  the  social  significance  of  his  place  in  the  economic  order. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  has  shrouded  himself  and  all  his  doings 
in  mystery;  he  has  strenuously  opposed  investigations;  he 
has  held  the  public  and  even  the  government  at  arm's  length. 
Too  often  he  has  prosecuted  the  game  of  business  with  the 
cunning  and  secrecy  of  the  hunter  who  snares  his  victims  or 
has  boldly  applied  the  tactics  of  war.  The  public  is  slowly 
coming  to  realize  that  in  business,  as  in  other  matters  of  vital 
concern,  society  is  best  served  when  the  game  goes  forward 
openly  with  all  the  cards  on  the  table. 

There  is  evidence,  furthermore,  that  this  traditional  atti- 
tude of  the  entrepreneur  is  no  longer  possible.  The  rise  of 
the  corporation,  the  concentration  of  many  business  units 
under  one  head  involving  thousands  of  employees  and  stock- 
holders and  requiring  exact  tests  of  ability  and  carefully 
thought-out  plans  of  development  with  corresponding  exacti- 
tude in  the  apportionment  of  rewards,  necessitates  a  type  of 
business  manager  entirely  different  from  the  old  individual- 
istic, often  anti-social  "  captain  of  industry."  The  entrepren- 
eur of  the  future  will  be  less  and  less  a  plunger,  a  Napoleon 
of  high  finance,  and  more  and  more  a  responsible  and  highly 
trained  scientific  manager  with  delegated  authority.  He  must 
provide  himself  with  efficiency  experts  who  are  masters  of 
the  physical  sciences,  with  improved  systems  of  cost  account- 


376          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

ing,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  psychological  problems  involved 
in  the  handling  of  the  human  material.  The  old  careless,  un- 
restricted days  of  the  financial  buccaneer  are  gone.  The  new 
industrial  leadership  must  be  actuated  by  a  genuine  spirit 
of  social  service. 

Meanwhile  those  canons  of  success  made  famous  by  the 
"  captains  of  industry  "  of  the  old  type  still  remain  with  us. 
Their  business  philosophy  has  become  ingrained  in  the  very 
thought  and  life  and  traditions  of  the  business  world.  The 
very  fact  that  they  were  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  law 
unto  themselves  has  lent  to  their  records  a  fascination  and 
authoritativeness  that  only  genius  is  able  to  inspire.  Not- 
withstanding the  beginnings  of  a  new  order  that  we  can  detect, 
the  ethics  of  business  enterprise  still  reflects  the  standards  of 
an  earlier  individualistic  age.  It  is  still  true  that  in  business 
the  pecuniary  obligation  is  final,  the  pecuniary  measure  of 
values  fundamental;  the  incentive  of  business  enterprise  still 
remains  the  desire  for  profits;  the  orthodox  method  of  business 
procedure  is  still  free  competition,  a  principle  opposed  for  the 
most  part  to  the  cooperation  so  basic  in  a  democracy;  the  prin- 
ciple of  unrestricted  economic  self-assertion  is  still  invoked 
in  irrational  fashion  with  no  thought-out  goal  of  social 
welfare. 

§  3.   THE  DOMINANCE  or  THE  PECUNIARY  STANDARD 

If  anyone  doubts  the  pervasive  influence  of  the  philosophy 
of  business  in  American  life  let  him  investigate  the  extent  to 
which  pecuniary  valuation  prevails.  Money  is  the  one  meas- 
ure of  value  acknowledged  by  all  Americans  irrespective  of 
social  position,  creed,  race,  or  culture.  In  America  as  in  no 
other  land  perhaps,  thanks  to  the  discipline  of  business  enter- 
prise, does  the  unsophisticated  common  sense  of  the  masses 
yield  such  an  unqualified  assent  to  the  pecuniary  obligation. 
It  is  possible  in  America  as  in  few  other  lands  to  discharge  in 
a  pecuniary  way  those  varied  duties  that  devolve  upon  the 
individual  as  a  member  of  the  social  order.  For  the  masses 
of  Americans  there  is  no  spiritual  or  moral  leader,  no  literary 


THE  DOMINANCE  OF  THE  PECUNIARY  STANDARD    377 

or  plastic  artist,  no  scholar,  scientist,  or  public  official  whose 
status  in  the  community  is  not  most  speedily  and  intelligently 
determined  in  terms  of  money. 

The  machine  process  has  played  a  most  important  role  in 
the  accentuation  of  money  in  American  life.  The  machine 
has  multiplied  indefinitely  the  various  ways  in  which  human 
energies  may  find  employment.  Men  work  now  not  for  food 
or  clothing  or  shelter.  The  efforts  of  men  are  turned  to  the 
making  of  money  rather  than  of  the  goods  needed  to  sustain 
life,  for  once  in  the  possession  of  money  these  goods  can  easily 
be  obtained.  The  problem  of  the  individual  or  of  the  family 
is  not  a  matter  of  special  skill  or  knowledge  but  a  matter  of 
the  extent  to  which  they  have  made  themselves  master  of 
money-income.  The  fluctuations  of  the  crops,  the  cycles  of 
full  and  lean  years  in  business,  lack  of  employment  or  what 
not  do  not  affect  the  status  of  the  individual  or  the  group  who 
is  in  possession  of  an  income.  Work  is  done,  goods  are  pro- 
duced, service  is  performed,  not  because  of  their  cultural  or 
moral  value  but  solely  to  assure  through  their  production  an 
adequate  money-income.  Natural  wealth  is  left  undeveloped, 
crops  are  neglected,  and  goods  necessary  for  life  are  not  pro- 
duced if  they  do  not  bring  income.  Hence  we  get  a  curious 
situation  in  which  "  the  elaborate  cooperative  process  by  which 
a  nation's  myriad  workers  provide  for  the  meeting  of  each 
other's  needs  is  thus  brought  into  precarious  dependence  upon 
factors  which  have  but  a  remote  connection  with  the  material 
conditions  of  well  being — factors  which  determine  the  pros- 
pects of  making  money  'V 

The  dollar  as  the  measure  of  values  is  still  further  strength- 
ened by  the  dearth  of  social  traditions  and  the  other  means 
of  evaluation  to  be  found  in  older  and  more  stable  societies 
with  a  more  varied  social  organization.  It  is  a  familiar  fact 
that  in  older  sections  even  of  American  society,  protected  from 
the  disintegrating  effects  of  change,  other  standards  such  as 
birth,  creed,  culture,  politics  or  character  outweigh  money. 
But  these  things  go  down  before  the  great  tide  of  industrialism. 

1  Mitchell,  Business  Cycles,  pp.  21,  22. 


378          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

The  rapid  transition  from  agricultural  to  industrial  life,  the 
sudden  transformation  of  village  into  rambling  manufactur- 
ing town,  the  herding  of  people  in  great  urban  centers  where 
all  home  ties  are  lost,  and  withal  the  Wanderleben  so  charac- 
teristic of  Americans  disrupt  all  traditional  standards  and 
throw  men  back  upon  the  dollar  as  the  sole,  universal  and  in- 
telligible measure  of  values.  "  The  identification  of  the  indiv- 
idual with  industrial  establishment,  with  community,  and 
with  peculiar  schemes  of  thinking  and  living  has  nothing  in 
common  save  the  blue  sky  above  and  the  pecuniary  income 
ahead.  In  view  of  the  necessity  of  forming  judgments  within 
this  chaotic  society,  it  is  inevitable  that  the  dollar  should  be- 
come the  arbiter  of  values  ".1 

On  the  face  of  things  this  impersonal  democracy  of  the 
dollar  seems  to  strip  society  of  all  those  warm  and  personal 
contacts  through  which  characters  are  shaped,  sympathies  cul- 
tivated and  all  "  the  burden  of  the  mystery  of  an  unintelligible 
world  "  made  tolerable.  But  this  very  impersonality  of  the 
money  economy  is  not  without  its  possible  benefits.  For  by 
reducing  relations  to  the  objective,  impersonal,  pecuniary  bond 
men  gain  greater  possibilities  of  personal  liberty.  The  property, 
for  example,  which  under  certain  conditions  may  become  re- 
stricting to  individual  freedom,  can  be  condensed  into  money. 
The  individual  gains  thereby  freedom  of  movement;  the  in- 
come from  rented  property  may  enable  him  to  live  in  a  dis- 
tant city  or  devote  himself  to  scientific  or  scholarly  pursuits. 
The  very  impersonality  of  the  pecuniary  standard  permits  of 
a  vast  variety  of  relations  with  the  increased  possibilities  for 
the  expansion  of  character.  It  requires,  to  be  sure,  great 
power  of  social  imagination  to  see  in  this  impersonal  pecuniary 
freedom  increased  social  responsibility  or  solidarity.  But 
in  reality  the  impersonal  pecuniary  tie  should  make  for  greater 
individualization  together  with  an  enlarged  sense  of  social  ca- 
pacites  and  duties.  For  it  is  through  the  impersonal  money- 
economy  that  socialization  may  take  place  in  more  compre- 

1  Hamilton,  "  The  Price  System  and  Social  Policy ",  The  Journal 
of  Political  Economy,  Vol.  XXVI,  p.  52. 


THE  DOMINANCE  OF  THE  PECUNIARY  STANDARD    379 

hensive  and  thorough  fashion!  The  pecuniary  bond  might 
thus  be  made  to  serve  the  larger  and  more  spiritual  solidarity 
of  men. 

This  dominance  of  the  pecuniary  standard  has  given  rise 
to  the  charge  that  America  is  incurably  materialistic  and  is  best 
characterized  as  the  land  of  the  Dollar  jaeger.  The  accusation 
is  unjust.  The  present  dominance  of  the  pecuniary  standard 
of  values  is  due  to  the  fact  that  money  is  not  vigorously 
and  effectively  opposed  by  other  standards.  The  pecuniary 
values  were  the  first  to  find  logical  expression  in  our  social 
order.  They  take  precedence  over  all  others,  therefore,  only 
in  the  sense  that  they  have  become  more  closely  and  rationally 
coordinated  with  the  life  of  society  as  a  whole.  It  is  a  familiar 
fact  that  the  great  moneyed  interests  of  the  nation,  the  trusts, 
first  made  effective  headway  against  the  rampant  and  waste- 
ful individualism  of  the  last  century  when  Americans  were 
busily  engaged  in  the  task  of  conquering  a  continent.  The 
financiers  and  trust-organizers  led  the  way  in  the  work  of 
social  re-organization  which  resulted  in  what  Graham  Wallas 
has  called  "  the  Great  Society  "  in  which  we  now  live.  The 
moneyed  interests,  therefore,  were  first  in  the  field.  The  rise 
of  a  plutocratic  regime  inevitably  brought  in  its  wake  the 
emphasis  of  the  pecuniary  standard  of  values.  There  is  every 
reason  for  believing,  therefore,  that  the  supremacy  of  the 
pecuniary  economy  is  but  a  phase  in  the  evolution  of 
American  life. 

When  the  masses  of  Americans  have  been  subjected  to  the 
disciplinary  influence  of  a  social  order  organized  and  inspired 
by  higher  values,  it  will  then  become  possible  to  modify  the 
present  dominant  money  values.  The  scepticism  of  the 
average  American  as  to  the  reform  of  commercialized  politics, 
the  elimination  of  graft  from  city  government  or  profiteering 
from  business,  is  not  due  to  the  fact  that  he  has  ceased  to  be- 
lieve that  "  righteousness  exalteth  a  nation."  His  scepticism  is 
due  to  his  feeling  of  impotence  when  faced  with  the  alert  and 
powerful  organization  of  those  interests  in  the  community  that 
represent  pecuniary  values  only.  The  ordinary  man  accepts 


380          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

the  supremacy  of  money  values,  for  the  most  part  from  the 
sheer  force  of  circumstances.  William  James  has  said  some- 
where that  we  need  only  to  assert  constantly  that  a  certain 
doctrine  is  true  and  good  and  act  persistently  upon  that  as- 
sumption to  induce  finally  the  firm  conviction  both  of  its 
truth  and  of  its  goodness.  The  ingrained  effect  of  the  habits 
of  pecuniary  valuation  to  which  Americans  have  long  been  sub- 
jected will  doubtless  linger  for  years  and  condition  our  view 
of  life. 

Any  attempt  to  better  the  situation  must  recognize  the 
legitimate  place  of  money.  Money  values  serve  to  mediate 
or  to  generalize  other  values.  Pecuniary  values  are,  there- 
fore, instrumental  and  secondary;  they  can  never  be  made 
primary  in  any  healthful  and  progressive  social  order. 
They  stand  lowest  in  the  scale,  below  economic  values  and 
far  below  moral,  esthetic  and  religious  values.  We  shall  not 
emancipate  society  from  the  present  tyranny  of  money  values 
by  debasing  them  or  placing  them  under  a  taboo.  We 
should  if  anything  make  them  more  comprehensive.  Re- 
former, scientist,  artist,  scholar  and  spiritual  leader  should  be 
included  in  our  scheme  of  monetary  valuation  but  on  a  scale 
in  proportion  to  their  social  significance.  It  is  a  curious  fact 
that  the  skilled  worker  in  the  steel-mill  commands  more  than 
the  public  school  teacher.  The  hand  guiding  the  lathe  that 
shapes  a  fourteen  inch  shell  is  better  paid  than  the  hand  that 
trains  the  future  citizen.  The  skilled  scientist  of  the  pure 
research  type  can  never  command  the  salary  of  the  commer- 
cial chemist.  To  be  sure,  we  recognize  that  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  searcher  after  pure  scientific  truth  and  the  joy  of  the 
teacher  over  the  mental  development  of  a  pupil  are  rewards 
too  subtle  and  sacred  to  be  measured  in  dollars  and  cents. 
But  in  the  interest  of  pecuniary  values  themselves  and  in  order 
to  rescue  them  from  the  materialism  and  selfishness  in  which 
they  too  often  grovel,  we  should  utilize  them  more  and  more 
as  instruments  of  social  evaluation  in  the  higher  realm  of 
the  disinterested  activities,  such  as  science,  education,  and  art. 
It  is  only  by  dignifying  and  humanizing  pecuniary  values  that 


PROFITISM  AND  THE  PROFITEER  381 

we  can  ever  hope  to  emancipate  ourselves  from  their  deadly 
tyranny. 

§  4.   PROFITISM  AND  THE  PROFITEER 

Most  important  in  the  ethics  of  business  enterprise  is  the 
part  played  by  profits.1  If  money  provides  the  standard 
of  measures  it  is  profits  that  furnishes  business  with  its 
incentive.  Adam  Smith's  famous  dictum,  "  The  considera- 
tion of  his  own  private  profit  is  the  sole  motive  which 
determines  the  owner  of  any  capital,"  is  still  the  theory 
of  business  enterprise.  Whatever  the  variations  due  to  the 
temper  or  training  of  the  individual  business  man  it  still 
remains  true  that,  as  a  rule,  the  effect  his  activity  may 
have  upon  social  welfare,  as  Smith  says,  "  never  enters  his 
thoughts."  In  so  far  as  business  has  any  whole  point  of 
view  it  seems  to  be  implied  in  the  idea  that  competition, 
price,  supply  and  demand,  and  the  like  are  phases  of 
inexorable  economic  laws  which,  like  gravity,  function  abso- 
lutely independent  of  striving  human  wills  or  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  human  happiness.  How  far  such  blank  determinism  is  really 
believed  by  the  man  of  business  who  talks  of  fixed  economic 
laws  and  how  far  it  is  a  convenient  pretext  for  escaping  the 
vast  moral  responsibilities  the  opposite  point  of  view  implies, 
may  remain  for  the  present  an  open  question. 

From  the  nature  of  the  case  profitism  can  not  be  a 
respecter  of  persons.  The  thousands  employed  in  a  great 
plant,  from  the  office  boy  to  the  manager,  are  classified 
in  terms  of  their  earning  capacity.  The  sentimentalist 
may  lament  the  "  mute  inglorious  Miltons  "  sacrificed  to  the 
god  of  gain,  but  profitism  does  not  indulge  in  sentimental 
dreams.  The  man  who  inclines  to  be  philanthropic  or  human- 
itarian, unless  he  has  made  good  through  strenuous  devotion 

1 "  Profits  are  to  be  understood  as  comprising  merely  that  part  of  the 
business  man's  returns  which  he  takes  as  the  reward  of  his  labor,  and 
as  insurance  against  the  risks  affecting  his  enterprise.  Deduct  from  the 
business  man's  total  income  a  sum  which  will  cover  interest  on  his  capital 
at  the  prevailing  rate  and  rent  on  his  land,  and  you  have  left  his  income 
as  business  man,  his  profits." x  (John  A.  Ryan,  Distributive  Justice, 
P-  239). 


382          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

to  the  principles  of  profitism,  is  condemned  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  ethics  of  business  enterprise  or  is  at  least  held 
under  suspicion.  The  head  of  a  large  business  concern,  no 
matter  how  benevolent  he  may  be  at  heart,  dares  not  let  these 
kindly  impulses  color  to  any  great  extent  his  business  policy, 
for  he  is  surrounded  by  shrewd  competitors  ready  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  every  weakening  of  his  economic  fighting  strength. 
Furthermore,  he  is  the  representative  of  thousands  of  stock- 
holders who  do  not  understand  his  benevolent  intentions  but 
who  do  hold  him  responsible  for  returns  on  their  investments. 
In  the  case  of  the  retired  millionaire,  his  philanthropic  activi- 
ties are  from  the  point  of  view  of  business  enterprise  the 
rightful  rewards  of  business  success;  his  benefactions  are  in 
a  way  the  justification  for  the  prevailing  business  philosophy. 
"  The  proximate  aim  of  the  business  man  ",  says  Taussig, 
"  is  to  make  money.  All  is  fish  that  comes  into  his  net. 
Unless  restrained  by  the  law  or  public  opinion  or  moral  scru- 
ples, he  will  turn  to  anything  that  promises  a  handsome  surplus 
over  expenses  "/  It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  profiteer  is 
an  almost  inevitable  product  of  the  present  ethics  of  business 
enterprise.  Certainly  the  profiteer  is  the  most  unlovely  ac- 
companiment of  the  present  order  and  has  done  more  than 
anything  else  to  create  distrust  of  business.  The  profiteer,  to 
be  sure,  pays  lip  homage  to  justice  and  to  those  higher  values 
that  have  found  expression  through  science,  education,  religion, 
and  art.  But  in  reality  he  has  no  interest  in  these  things 
except  in  so  far  as  they  serve  his  selfish  ends.  Science  is  free, 
critical,  fearless,  frank,  forward-looking,  unselfish.  The  atmos- 
phere of  the  profiteer  is  militant,  suspicious,  secretive,  selfish. 
The  profiteer  is  effusive  in  his  plaudits  of  the  scientist  who 
can  unlock  the  secrets  of  nature  and  offer  prospects  of  imme- 
diate pecuniary  returns;  he  has  small  respect  for  the  plodding 
but  poverty-stricken  searcher  for  abstract  truth.  Galileo, 
Newton,  Liebig,  Helmholtz,  Kelvin,  Jenner,  Koch,  Pasteur, 
Darwin,  Fechner,  and  Roentgen  lived  in  a  world  he  can  not 
understand.  Where  others  have  toiled  in  poverty  of  external 

1  Principles  of  Economics,  Vol.  II,  p.  189. 


PROFITISM  AND  THE  PROFITEER  383 

circumstance  but  with  divine  enthusiasm  for  the  truth  and 
out  of  love  for  humanity,  the  profiteer  is  content  to  enter  and 
reap  the  rich  material  harvest  they  had  to  forego  or  purposely 
scorned. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  menace  of  the  profiteer  to  the  higher 
life  is  that  he  is  inclined  to  bring  the  standards  of  science 
and  of  education  down  to  the  level  of  the  market  place.  The 
reviewer  of  a  recent  work  upon  the  psychology  of  business 
efficiency  writes,  "  The  desire  of  the  authors'  hearts  emerges 
in  the  later  chapters,  where  we  find  psychology  applied  to  the 
business  man  in  office  and  workshop,  in  the  selecting  of  em- 
ployees, enticing  the  customer,  selling  goods  to  people  who 
do  not  want  them.  The  psychologist  is  shown  busily  at  work, 
perfecting  the  technique  of  exploitation,  which  may  be  then 
handed  over  to  the  employing  class,  for  use  in  its  interests  as 
against  those  of  the  worker  and  consumer.  ...  A  really 
impersonal  science  would  have  to  be  developing  simultaneously 
a  technique  of  resistance  for  the  manipulated  classes  ".  Owing 
to  the  position  of  advantage  he  occupies  in  the  community  the 
profiteer  is  often  able  to  harness  the  most  brilliant  intellects 
and  to  set  them  to  solve  those  problems  that  are  not  necessarily 
of  primary  concern  to  human  welfare  but  that  offer  the  richest 
pecuniary  rewards.  Thus  science  after  having  slowly  freed 
herself  from  the  tyranny  of  theology  is  in  danger  of  becoming 
the  paid  retainer  of  the  fat  and  wheezy  god  of  the  market- 
place. 

Nowhere  does  the  essential  unloveliness  of  the  profiteer 
appear  so  hideous  and  garish  as  in  connection  with  commer- 
cialized vice.  The  profiteer  is  not  squeamish;  he  has  only  one 
measure  of  values,  namely,  returns  on  the  investment.  He  has 
discovered  that  it  is  not  only  possible  to  capitalize  the  legiti- 
mate needs  of  men  such  as  food  and  clothing  but  that  the  same 
thing  can  be  done  in  the  case  of  their  baser  appetites  and  with 
even  greater  gains.  Hence  all  the  clever  arts  of  business  used 
to  create  a  market  for  legitimate  products  are  now  utilized  to 
create  a  market  for  lust.  In  the  case  of  the  liquor  traffic 
and  the  white  slave  trade  vast  and  intricate  business  institu- 


384          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

tions  have  been  organized,  representing  millions  of  capital,  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  arousing,  cultivating  and  finally  institu- 
tionalizing habits  and  appetites  that  menace  the  very  existence 
of  civilization  itself. 

The  authorities  of  New  York,  when  investigating  the  vice 
conditions  in  that  city,  were  amazed  to  find  a  deep  and  funda- 
mental similarity  between  commercialized  vice  and  legitimate 
business.  They  discovered  that  "  these  associations  and  clubs 
are  analogous  to  commercial  bodies  in  other  fields."  The  sole 
bond  that  lent  unity  and  effectiveness  to  this  mass  of  hideous 
moral  corruption  was  the  desire  for  gain.  Profitism  welded 
together  into  one  nefarious  group  "  those  who  profit  off  the 
place — the  land-lord,  janitor,  agent,  amusement-dealer,  brewer, 
and  furniture-dealer;  those  who  profit  off  the  act — the  keeper, 
procurer,  druggist,  physician,  midwife,  police  officer,  and  poli- 
tician; those  who  profit  off  the  children — employers,  procurers, 
and  public  service  corporations;  those  who  deal  in  the  futures 
of  vice — publishers,  manufacturers,  and  venders  of  vicious 
pictures  and  articles;  those  who  exploit  the  unemployed — the 
employment  agent  and  employers;  a  group  of  no  less  than 
nineteen  middlemen  who  are  profit-sharers  in  vice  ".* 

The  story  of  commercialized  vice  is  particularly  illuminat- 
ing since  it  exhibits  the  utter  indifference  of  the  profiteer  to 
those  higher  moral  and  spiritual  values  which  after  all  make 
life  tolerable.  There  is  a  sort  of  grim  and  ghastly  humor  in 
the  calculation  of  the  Chicago  vice  commission  of  the  rela- 
tive earning  capacity  of  the  chaste  girl  and  the  prostitute.  The 
pure  and  honest  girl,  working  in  a  Chicago  department  store 
for  the  meager  sum  of  six  dollars  per  week,  represented  a 
return  of  five  percent  on  an  investment  of  six  thousand  dol- 
lars, while  the  girl  of  the  street  represented  from  the  stand- 
point of  profitism  a  return  of  five  percent  on  $26,000.  "In 
other  words  a  girl  represents  a  capitalized  value  of  $26,000 
as  a  professional  prostitute  where  brains,  virtue  and  other 
good  things  are  nil,  or  more  than  four  times  as  much  as  she 
is  worth  as  a  factor  in  the  industrial  and  social  economy, 

1  The  Social  Evil  in  Chicago,  p.  231. 


THE  MORALITY  OF  PROFITS  385 

where  brains,  intelligence,  virtue,  and  womanly  charm  should 
be  a  premium  ".  Can  we  say  that  the  profiteer  ever  rises 
above  the  ideal  expressed  in  Mandeville's  cynical  lines? 

"  So  vice  is  beneficial  found, 
When  it's  by  justice  lopped  and  bound; 
Nay,  where  the  people  would  be  great, 
As  necessary  to  the  state, 
As  hunger  is  to  make  'em  eat. 
Bare  virtue  can't  make  nations  live 
In  splendor;  they  that  would  revive 
A  golden  age,  must  be  as  free, 
For  acorns  as  for  honesty."1 

§  5.   THE  MORALITY  OF  PROFITS 

To  demand  a  sanction  for  profits  is  to  raise  the  most  fun- 
damental ethical  issue  of  business  enterprise.  It  places  the 
entire  business  world  on  the  defensive  since  that  world  is 
based  avowedly  upon  the  principle  of  profitism.  We  can  dis- 
tinguish two  phases  of  the  problem.  The  first  deals  with  the 
general  question  as  to  the  moral  justification  for  profits  in  the 
abstract.  Granting  the  morality  of  profitism  as  a  business 
principle,  we  are  faced  with  the  questions  arising  in  connection 
with  the  control  and  distribution  of  profits  in  the  interest  of 
human  welfare. 

We  have  seen  that  business  grows  through  enterprise. 
Where  business  ventures  are  inaugurated  they  require,  of 
course,  capital.  It  is  an  inevitable  accompaniment  of  the 
capital  so  used  that  the  risk  of  its  loss  is  greater  than  the 
average  investor  likes  to  assume.  Society,  however,  needs  the 
advantages  that  come  through  business  expansion.  It  is 
most  important,  therefore,  that  some  one  should  be  willing 
to  relieve  society  as  a  whole  of  the  risk  while  undertaking 
to  meet  the  need  for  business  development.  The  entre- 
preneur is  the  risk-taker  of  the  business  world.  The  risk- 
takers  of  course  vary  indefinitely,  a  fact  that  affects  the 
amount  of  the  profits  that  are  the  reward  for  this  risk.  A 

1  Bernard  de  Mandeville,  The  Fable  of  the  Bees,  p.  u,  edition  of  1795. 


386          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

fire  insurance  company,  for  example,  assumes  a  risk  for  an 
individual  or  a  firm.  Its  profits  derived  from  shouldering  that 
risk  are  fairly  definite  and  calculable  since  the  risk  assumed 
covers  only  the  money  value  of  the  buildings  and  is  based 
upon  statistical  averages.  On  the  other  hand,  the  risk  taken 
by  the  promoter  of  a  gold  mine  or  of  an  oil  field  must  neces- 
sarily be  much  greater,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  risk 
theory  of  profits  he  is  entitled  to  a  much  greater  reward.  It 
is  argued,  furthermore,  that  the  experienced  and  skilful  enter- 
priser is  able  to  avoid  losses  which  the  tyro  would  incur. 
Society,  therefore,  becomes  the  greater  gainer  by  encouraging 
and  rewarding  his  greater  experience  and  skill.  In  other 
words,  "  Risk-taking  is  to  be  ranked  along  with  land,  labor, 
and  capital,  as  one  of  the  four  fundamental  divisions  of  the 
productive  forces,  and  profit,  its  reward,  is  to  be  classed  with 
rent,  wages,  and  interest  as  one  of  the  four  radically  distinct 
forms  of  income  'V  Such  in  brief  is  the  commonly  accepted 
risk-theory  of  profits. 

Our  reaction  to  this  or  to  any  other  theory  seeking  justifica- 
tion for  profits  will  depend  in  the  last  analysis  upon  the  way 
in  which  we  view  the  structure  of  society  as  a  whole.  Under- 
lying the  orthodox  risk-theory  of  profits  is  the  assumption  of 
a  dynamic  society  in  which  the  creative  human  wills  and  the 
contingencies  due  to  unforeseen  changes  must  be  reckoned 
with.  In  a  social  order  which  sanctions  private  property 
and  recognizes  risk  as  a  permanent  element,  profitism  in  some 
form  or  other  would  seem  to  be  inevitable.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  we  accept  a  more  static  conception  of  society  in  which 
private  property  is  eliminated,  the  notion  of  profits  is  apt  to 
be  absorbed  by  that  of  wages.  Profits  will  be  viewed  as  a 
form  of  reward  due  to  the  imperfections  of  the  arts  and  man's 
lack  of  control  of  economic  forces.  After  science  has  given 
us  complete  command  of  the  forces  of  nature,  after  competi- 
tion has  done  its  perfect  work  in  directing  social  evolution, 
after  prices  are  brought  into  close  and  rational  connection 

1  Hawley,  "  The  Risk  Theory  of  Profit,"  Quarterly  Journal  of  Eco- 
nomics, Vol.  VII,  1892-93,  p.  479. 


THE  MORALITY  OF  PROFITS  387 

with  the  expense  of  production,  it  will  then  be  possible  to 
have  a  highly  institutionalized  and  centralized  society  in  which 
the  risk-taking  entrepreneur  will  be  superfluous.  His  place 
will  be  filled  by  the  salaried  manager.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  a  society  assuring  room  for  individual  initiative,  spon- 
taneity, and  adventure  together  with  profitism  with  all  its 
limitations  is  infinitely  preferable  to  the  society  of  the  So- 
cialist, freed  from  profitism  to  be  sure,  but  sacrificing  indi- 
viduality on  a  Procrustes'  couch  of  arbitrarily  determined 
function  and  status. 

The  most  damaging  argument  against  profitism  is  the 
moral  one,  namely,  that  it  fails  to  appeal  to  the  highest 
and  the  best  in  man.  There  is  no  more  striking  evidence  of 
this  fact  than  the  growing  distrust  of  profitism  that  can  be 
detected  in  many  directions.  Men  distrusted  profitism  before 
the  war;  when  the  supreme  values  of  our  civilization  were 
jeopardized  by  that  memorable  struggle  men  suddenly  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  the  selfish  motive  of  profits  was  a  public 
peril.  Distrust  of  profitism  is  evinced  in  the  constant  efforts 
that  are  being  made  to  take  from  the  sphere  of  profits  one 
vital  activity  after  another.  Education,  public  health,  public 
utilities,  scientific  research,  the  press,  art,  and  even  politics 
have  at  one  time  or  another  provided  a  setting  for  the  eternal 
struggle  of  a  free  people  to  keep  the  well-springs  of  its  na- 
tional life  free  from  the  clutches  of  the  profiteer.  This  has 
even  suggested  to  some  that  the  drift  of  the  times  points  to 
a  stage  when  profitism  like  everything  that  is  outworn,  mean 
and  futile  will  be  discarded  entirely.  "  What  is  the  meaning 
of  these  protean  efforts  to  supersede  the  profiteer  if  not  that 
his  motive  produces  results  hostile  to  use,  and  that  he  is  a 
usurper  where  the  craftsman,  the  inventor  and  the  industrial 
statesman  should  govern?  "  * 

Economists  themselves  frankly  admit  the  lower  level  from 
which  business  seeks  its  incentive  and  often  express  the  desire 
that  the  great  commercial  fabric  might  be  animated  by  those 
nobler  ideals  that  appeal  so  powerfully  to  the  hearts  of  men 

1  Lippmann,  Drift  and  Mastery,  p.  30. 


388          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

in  religion,  science,  and  education.  At  the  same  time  they 
insist  that  throughout  history  the  more  powerful  and  coarser 
motives  have  ever  been  those  that  have  prevailed  with  the 
masses  of  men.  The  economist  even  asserts  that  without  this 
broad  and  powerful  appeal  of  business  to  the  lower  impulses 
of  men  the  great  economic  advancement,  especially  of  the  last 
two  centuries,  would  not  have  been  possible.  "  It  is  prob- 
able "  writes  Taussig,  "  that  motives  of  the  same  sort  will  long 
continue  to  operate,  and  will  long  continue  to  be  indispensable 
for  sustained  material  progress.  The  business  man,  as  we 
know  him,  with  his  virtues  and  his  faults,  his  good  effects  on 
society  and  his  evil,  will  long  be  with  us.  Business  profits  will 
long  be  a  factor  of  the  first  importance  in  the  distribution  of 
current  earnings  and  in  the  shaping  of  social  stratification  ".* 

§  6.   THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PROFITS 

Assuming,  as  apparently  we  must,  that  profits  will  long 
continue  to  provide  a  powerful  incentive  in  business  enter- 
prise, the  more  immediate  and  practical  question  arises  as  to 
the  ethical  canons  by  which  profits  should  be  distributed. 
The  problem  of  the  distribution  of  profits  may  be  considered 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  economist  or  the  moralist.  They 
seldom  agree  in  the  solutions  they  propose  for  the  simple 
reason  that  they  approach  the  problem  from  different  angles. 
For  the  economist  the  physical  energies  concerned  in  pro- 
duction and  the  so-called  law  of  supply  and  demand  are  apt 
to  be  the  determining  factors.  The  moralist,  having  in  mind 
chiefly  the  matter  of  personal  worth,  is  apt  to  stress  the  more 
abstract  matters  of  equality,  sacrifice,  needs,  and  welfare. 
For  the  moralist  the  problem  is  primarily  one  of  human  wel- 
fare; for  the  economist  it  is  frequently  a  matter  of  the  opera- 
tion of  laws  that  lie  without  the  scope  of  the  moral.  We 
shall  find  that  the  economic  and  ethical  phases  cannot  be 
divorced. 

That  supply  and  demand  play  a  part  in  the  distribution 
of  pecuniary  rewards  can  not  be  denied.  We  are  made  pain- 

1  Principles  of  Economics,  Vol,  II,  p.   169. 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PROFITS  389 

fully  aware  of  this  fact  in  our  efforts  to  control  the  food 
profiteer.  When  scarcity  arises  in  the  case  of  the  fundamental 
necessities  of  life  and  that  through  the  operation  of  forces 
lying  beyond  human  control  the  situation  is  one  that  lends 
itself  easily  to  the  manipulations  of  the  profiteer.  Under  nor- 
mal conditions  it  seems  best  to  let  the  situation  adjust  itself 
through  the  incentive  to  profits  offered  by  the  scarcity,  pro- 
vided of  course  the  scarcity  is  not  artificially  created  as  in 
the  case  of  monopoly.  Scarcity  of  houses,  for  example,  in- 
creases rents  and  consequently  the  opportunities  for  profits. 
This  in  turn  increases  building  activity  until  the  equilibrium 
between  supply  and  demand  is  once  more  established.  This 
method  is  crude,  even  irrational,  and  individuals  often  suffer 
while  others  prosper,  but  in  a  situation  as  tremendously 
complex  as  the  social  order  it  is  perhaps  the  best  and 
quickest  way  for  society  to  supply  its  needs.  The  prin- 
ciple of  profitism  is  here  appealed  to  because  it  works. 
While  essentially  selfish  and  circumscribed  in  its  point  of 
view  it  is  made  to  serve  the  larger  cause  of  human  welfare. 
The  individual's  profits  are  merely  the  price  society  as 
a  whole  pays  for  the  better  housing  of  its  citizens.  It  is 
obvious,  however,  that  scarcity,  when  not  artificially  in- 
duced, does  not  in  and  of  itself  involve  any  moral  principle. 
It  can  not,  therefore,  determine  for  us  the  principles  of  dis- 
tributive justice,  a  fact  society  recognizes  when  it  controls  by 
law  the  attempts  of  the  profiteer  to  exploit  to  his  own  advan- 
tage the  abnormal  scarcity  of  such  necessities  as  sugar  or 
flour. 

Productivity  has  been  much  emphasized  by  the  economist 
as  providing  the  best  principle  for  the  distribution  of  rewards. 
Productivity  has  this  distinct  advantage  over  scarcity  that  it 
is  immediately  dependent  upon  human  activity.  Further- 
more, it  would  seem  that  in  the  distribution  of  rewards  those 
immediately  concerned  in  the  production  of  the  goods  should 
take  precedence.  But  upon  examination  it  will  be  seen  that 
production  taken  alone  can  give  us  no  infallibly  just  principle 
for  the  distribution  of  profits.  In  the  first  place,  it  can  be 


390          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

applied  successfully  only  among  producers  belonging  to  the 
same  class  and  performing  some  uniform  simple  task.  But 
who,  for  example,  is  able  to  determine  the  relative  productivity 
in  a  shoe  factory  where  scores  of  different  workmen  have  con- 
tributed to  the  making  of  one  shoe?  By  what  standard  of 
measurement  are  we  to  determine  the  rewards  of  engineer, 
track-walker,  ticket-agent,  train  dispatcher,  clerk,  or  presi- 
dent in  a  great  railroad  system?  Furthermore,  shall  the  mere 
fact  of  the  accident  of  a  superior  endowment,  physical,  mental, 
or  otherwise,  that  enables  one  to  produce  more  than  another, 
suffice  as  a  basis  for  the  distribution  of  rewards  irrespective 
of  needs  and  capacities  and  conscientious  effort?  This  would 
be  equivalent  to  making  distributive  justice  depend  upon  the 
whims  of  Dame  Fortune. 

The  economic  principles  of  scarcity  and  productivity  must 
be  supplemented  by  other  norms  more  strictly  ethical,  such 
as  sacrifice,  need,  and  human  welfare.  These  norms,  how- 
ever, divorced  from  the  immediate  concrete  situation,  are 
mere  empty  generalizations.  They  depend  for  sanction  and 
power  of  social  control  upon  public  sentiment.  For  the  econ- 
omist the  good  of  society  is  best  furthered,  and  there  is  the 
most  equable  distribution  of  profits,  where  there  is  free  and 
full  operation  of  the  abstract  principle  of  competition.  But 
even  competition,  as  Taussig  observes,  "  depends  partly  on 
law,  partly  on  public  opinion  and  the  pervading  moral  spirit  ". 
It  would  seem,  then,  that  in  a  competitive  society  the  role 
of  enlightened  public  sentiment  in  regulating  the  abuses  of 
profitism  is  most  fundamental. 

So  long  as  we  have  private  property,  the  entrepreneur  and 
individual  initiative,  it  is  practically  impossible  to  provide  more 
than  general  regulations  for  the  distribution  of  profits.  Owing 
to  the  thousand  and  one  factors  such  as  difference  in  individual 
capacity,  advantages  of  location,  control  of  natural  resources, 
business  connections,  and  what  not,  there  will  always  be  indi- 
viduals and  corporations  that  will  make  exceptionally  large 
profits.  Between  the  demands  of  charity  on  the  one  hand  and 
strict  justice  on  the  other  there  is  a  middle  ground  of  equity 


COMPETITION  391 

or  fairness  which  corresponds  to  the  demands  that  an  enlight- 
ened social  conscience  makes  upon  those  who  have  accumu- 
lated great  profits.  The  actual  extent  to  which  this  sense  of 
equity  is  able  to  influence  individuals  to  use  their  profits 
for  the  good  of  the  community  will  be  measured  directly 
in  terms  of  the  conscious  pressure  of  the  moral  sentiment  of 
the  community.  Where  the  social  conscience  is  alert,  informed, 
and  sensitive  we  are  apt  to  have  more  socially  minded  million- 
naires.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  wiser  to  permit  these  large 
profits  and  trust  to  the  pressure  of  the  enlightened  public 
sentiment  to  secure  their  equable  distribution  than  to  under- 
take the  difficult  and  dangerous  task  of  their  strict  regulation. 

§  7.   COMPETITION 

If  money  provides  the  standard  of  values  in  business  enter- 
prise and  profits  the  incentive,  it  is  competition  that  furnishes 
the  regulative  principle.  Competition  is  the  general  term  ap- 
plied to  situations  where  rivals  are  seeking  the  same  object  or 
end.  In  business  it  is  used  of  the  complex  situation  in  which 
wages,  prices,  interests,  and  profits  are  regulated  through  free 
bargaining  in  an  open  market.  Competition  is  not  a  force  or 
an  agent  or  a  concrete  entity.  It  is  not  a  fixed  law  either  of 
ethics  or  of  economics  as  Adam  Smith  imagined.  There  is 
nothing  about  it  to  suggest  an  institution  or  a  permanent  way 
of  life.  It  is  merely  a  method  of  action  that  arises  out  of 
the  prevailing  organization  of  society.  The  present  competi- 
tive society  is  recent  in  origin  and  undoubtedly  crude  and  im- 
perfect. We  have  no  reason  to  imagine  that  it  will  be  any 
more  permanent  than  feudalism  and  the  gild  system  or  mer- 
cantilism. 

Competition  as  a  principle  of  business  enterprise  has  been 
almost  as  great  a  storm-center  as  profits.  "  Sweet  competi- 
tion! Heavenly  maid!  "  wrote  Charles  Kingsley  scornfully  in 
Cheap  Clothes  and  Nasty.  "  Nowadays  hymned  alike  by 
penny-a-liners  and  philosophers  as  the  ground  of  all  society 
.  .  .  the  only  real  preserver  of  the  earth!  Why  not  of 
Heaven,  too?  Perhaps  there  is  competition  among  the  angels, 


392          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

and  Gabriel  and  Raphael  have  won  their  rank  by  doing  the 
maximum  of  worship  on  the  minimum  of  grace  ".  Contrast 
this  with  the  calm  assurance  of  the  economist:  "  There  can,  I 
think,  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the  world  is  far  better 
served  under  this  competitive  system  than  under  any  other 
system  of  industrial  regulation  which  has  hitherto  been 
tried  'V 

There  is  no  doubt  that  competition  is  viewed  by  modern 
society  not  only  as  an  incontrovertible  principle  of  economics 
but  also  as  an  authoritative  norm  of  the  social  conscience. 
The  prevailing  theory  of  the  middle  ages  was  that  a  just  price 
(justum  pretium)  for  a  necessity  like  bread  existed  and  the 
authorities  determined  what  it  was  so  that  the  seller  might 
not  endanger  his  immortal  soul  by  asking  too  much  and  the 
buyer  might  be  protected  from  extortion;  the  prevailing 
philosophy  was  caveat  vendor  instead  of,  as  to-day,  caveat 
emptor.  This  fixity  of  price  led  the  consumer  naturally  to 
use  bread  freely,  thus  bringing  about  a  scarcity  or  the  very 
thing  men  sought  with  the  just  price  to  avoid.  The  regula- 
tion of  prices  through  competition  arose  to  correct  this  situa- 
tion and  hence  free  competition  has  hardened  into  a  principle 
with  all  the  sanctity  and  authority  of  an  ethical  norm. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  prove,  however,  that  competition  is 
inherently  any  more  moral  than  natural  selection  or  the  attrac- 
tion of  gravitation.  Absolutely  "  free  competition  ",  if  there 
be  such  a  thing,  is  far  removed  from  the  ethical  sphere. 
Several  years  ago  thousands  of  people  were  quietly  sitting  in 
the  Iroquois  Theater  in  Chicago.  At  the  cry  of  "  Fire  "  there 
was  suddenly  precipitated  a  mad  struggle  for  the  exits.  Here 
was  competition  without  let  or  hindrance  and  with  such  deadly 
effectiveness  that  six  hundred  people  lost  their  lives.  "  Free 
competition "  of  this  sort  is  at  the  widest  remove  from 
morality.  Furthermore,  free  competition  even  in  the  modern 
business  world  has  not  always  made  for  social  justice.  It  is 
probable  that  competition  when  properly  regulated  has  made 
for  equilibrium  between  production  and  consumption;  it  has 

1  Hadley,  Freedom  and  Responsibility,  p.  121. 


COMPETITION  393 

aided  progress  by  stimulating  human  energies;  it  has  assured 
a  measure  of  justice  in  the  relations  of  wages  and  profits;  it 
has  benefited  the  poor  and  those  in  moderate  circumstances 
through  the  lowering  of  prices;  it  has  served  to  help  men  find 
their  proper  places  in  the  social  order.  On  the  other  hand, 
competition  has  also  often  endangered  the  balance  between 
production  and  social  needs;  it  has  failed  signally  to  equalize 
the  distribution  of  profits  and  fortunes;  it  no  longer  controls 
prices  in  such  important  commodities  as  steel,  oil,  meat,  and 
sugar;  it  is  excessively  wasteful,  as  when  it  encourages  the 
rise  of  rival  concerns  which  often  combine  and  force  the 
community  to  pay  for  useless  investments;  worst  of  all,  com- 
petition, where  it  is  given  any  measure  of  freedom,  tends  to 
destroy  itself  and  pass  over  into  its  opposite,  monopoly. 

Competition,  especially  among  economists,  has  been  wor- 
shipped as  a  fetich.  It  is  appealed  to  as  the  magic  "  Open 
Sesame  "  that  unlocks  all  problems.  It  has  been  uncritically 
identified  with  the  doctrine  of  the  struggle  for  survival  con- 
trary to  Darwin's  own  teachings.  Against  such  a  forbidding 
and  inhuman  philosophy  writers  of  various  schools  have  risen 
in  revolt.  "  To  attribute  ",  says  Kropotkin,  "  the  industrial 
progress  of  our  century  to  the  war  of  each  against  all  which 
it  has  proclaimed,  is  to  reason  like  the  man  who,  knowing  not 
the  cause  of  rain,  attributes  it  to  the  victim  he  has  immolated 
before  his  clay  idol.  For  industrial  progress,  as  for  each  other 
conquest  over  nature,  mutual  aid  and  close  intercourse  cer- 
tainly are,  as  they  have  been,  much  more  advantageous  than 
mutual  struggle  'V  A  socially  minded  economist  is  careful 
to  tell  us  that  "  Competition  is  something  essentially  different 
in  character  from  the  struggle  for  existence  among  the  lower 
animals.  It  is  a  struggle  so  ordered  that  outside  parties  reap 
a  benefit  instead  of  suffering  an  injury  ".2 

President  Hadley's  language  suggests  the  true  place  of 
competition  in  any  scheme  of  moral  values.  Its  role  is  sub- 
sidiary, not  final  and  determinative.  Competition  is  a  relative 

1  Mutual  Aid,  a  Factor  of  Evolution,  p.  298. 

2  Hadley,  Freedom  and  Responsibility,  p.  122. 


394          THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

term.  It  implies  rules,  a  social  situation  held  together  by  a 
common  body  of  loyalties.  This  gives  us  the  ethical  and  social 
type  of  competition  as  opposed  to  the  non-moral  and  unsocial 
competition.  The  typical  illustration  of  the  ethical  type  of 
competition  is  to  be  found  in  sport.  Here  competition  is 
pleasurable  and  profitable  and  just  because  it  is  governed  by 
the  rules  of  the  game.  The  players,  to  be  sure,  are  contending 
with  each  other.  In  a  deeper  sense  they  are  also  cooperating 
in  that  they  abide  by  the  rules.  We  have  already  alluded  to 
the  fact  that  in  the  evolution  of  human  society  three  great  sys- 
tems have  emerged  offering  different  fields  of  action  and  dif- 
ferent schemes  of  valuation,  namely,  dominance,  competition, 
and  cooperation.  There  is  much  to  support  the  contention  that 
of  these  three  types  of  social  organization  the  most  valuable 
is  cooperation.  If  this  be  true,  competition,  in  the  harsh  and 
selfish  form  that  we  now  know,  is  destined  to  disappear.  At 
best  it  will  survive  in  the  more  rationalized  and  socialized  form 
of  rivalry  or  emulation. 

In  this  process  of  rationalizing  and  socializing  the  prin- 
ciple of  competition  the  leading  part  is  to  be  played  by  an 
enlightened  social  conscience.  Custom  and  the  social  con- 
science are  the  guardians  of  justice;  competition,  as  we 
have  known  it  in  American  society,  is  the  arch  enemy  of 
custom  and  conscience.  By  constantly  subjecting  traditional 
norms  and  customs  to  unchecked  competition  these  norms  are 
weakened  and  discredited  in  the  popular  mind.  The  kindly 
disposed  manufacturer  with  traditional  ideals  of  right  may  not 
wish  to  make  a  dollar  shirt  through  sweat-shop  labor.  Com- 
petition, however,  which  recognizes  no  such  humanitarian 
standards,  forces  him  to  discard  his  higher  ethical  standards 
or  be  forced  to  the  wall.  Because  of  the  unchecked  sway  we 
have  given  to  competition  in  American  life,  status  and  cus- 
tom and  social  conscience  have  been  discredited  as  instru- 
ments for  social  adjustment  and  the  distribution  of  social 
goods.  As  a  nation  we  are  suffering  from  an  overplus  of  com- 
petition and  a  lack  of  social  norms  that  are  necessary  to  keep 
competition  moral  and  socially  serviceable.  This  is  reflected 


COMPETITION  395 

in  the  quickness  and  versatility  of  the  average  American,  his 
nervous  tension  and  restless  energy,  qualities  that  are  the 
product  of  a  highly  competitive  society,  but  which  are  often 
misdirected  because  of  the  lack  of  proper  sanctions. 

Nowhere  is  the  helplessness  of  American  competitive  society 
before  the  forces  it  has  liberated  more  strikingly  exhibited 
than  in  the  business  world.  The  wastefulness,  the  brutality,  the 
unscrupulousness  and  the  occasional  note  of  anarchy  in  busi- 
ness are  the  legitimate  results  of  competition  working  without 
the  check  of  higher  loyalties.  The  problem  is  complicated  by 
the  fact  that  the  simple  individual  competition  of  Adam  Smith 
and  the  classical  economists  has  given  place  to  a  competition 
between  groups.  Labor  and  capital  combine  to  make  more 
effective  their  powers  of  competition.  Competition  of  this  type 
is  infinitely  more  serious  than  the  competition  between  man 
and  man.  Combination  in  itself  is  not  an  evil;  it  is  only  when 
this  increase  of  power  is  sought  to  give  expression  to  unregu- 
lated group  ideals  that  the  moral  integrity  of  society  is  threat- 
ened. If  "  collective  bargaining  ",  for  example,  means  simply 
the  pooling  of  interests  on  the  part  of  the  workers  so  that  they 
may  give  more  effective  expression  to  group  needs  under  the 
control  of  generally  accepted  norms  of  social  justice  and  public 
welfare,  then  the  union  is  morally  justifiable,  even  necessary. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  this  pooling  of  interests  is  merely  for 
the  sake  of  applying  force  for  the  furthering  of  group  interests 
without  regard  to  social  sanctions  or  public  welfare  it  is  a 
menace  to  the  community.  We  can  never  solve  the  problem 
of  competition  as  an  instrument  of  social  progress  until  we 
incorporate  in  the  sanctions  of  all  the  competing  groups  a 
common  body  of  principles  that  will  assure  to  society  the 
carrying  out  of  this  competition  in  a  peaceful  and  socially 
profitable  way. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

i.  Books:  FISKE,  A.  K. :  Honest  Business,  1914;  GHENT,  W.  J.: 
Mass  and  Class,  Chs.  5-9;  MARSHALL,  L.  C. :  Readings  in  Industrial  So- 
ciety, Chs.  8,  10,  n,  12,  13,  15;  RYAN,  JOHN  A.:  Distributive  Justice, 
Chs.  15-21;  STEVENS,  E.  G. :  Civilised  Commercialism,  1917;  STEVENS, 


396         THE  ETHICS  OF  BUSINESS  ENTERPRISE 

W.  H.  S. :  Unfair  Competition,  1917;  TARBELL,  I.:  New  Ideals  in  Busi- 
ness, 1916 ;  TAUSSIG,  Principles  of  Economics,  Chs.  48,  59,  "  Business 
Profits  " ;  VEBLEN  :  Theory  of  Business  Enterprise,  1904 ;  WYMAN,  BRUCE  : 
Control  of  the  Market,  1914. 

2.  Articles :  HOBSON  :  "  The  Ethics  of  Industrialism,"  in  Coit's  Ethical 
Democracy,  pp.  81  ff. ;  Competition :  A  Study  in  Human  Motive,  by 
various  writers,  London,  1917;  COOLEY:  "Personal  Competition."  Eco- 
nomic Studies,  1899,  Vol.  4,  pp.  146-54;  HOWERTH:  "Competition,  Natural 
and  Industrial."  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  22,  pp.  399  ff. ; 
JENKS  :  "  Modern  Standards  of  Business  Honor."  Publications  of  the 
American  Economic  Association,  1007,  Vol.  21,  pp.  1-22;  KEASBEY:  "Com- 
petition." American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  13,  pp.  649  ff. ;  LOVEJOY: 
"  Christian  Ethics  and  Economic  Competition."  Hibbert  Journal,  Vol.  9, 
pp.  324  ff. ;  MACGREGOR:  "Ethical  Aspects  of  Industrialism."  International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  19,  pp.  284  ff. ;  STOOPS  :  "  The  Ethics  of  Industry." 
International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  23,  pp.  455  f . ;  WILLOUGHBY  :  "  Ethics 
of  the  Competitive  Process."  American  Journal  of  Sociology,  Vol.  6, 
PP.  145  ff- 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

§  i.   THE  CITY  AND  CIVILIZATION 

THE  city  has  always  been  associated  with  the  highest  and 
holiest  interests  of  men.  Plato's  masterpiece,  the  Republic,  is 
but  a  philosophical  glorification  of  the  Athenian  city-state.  In 
its  boldest  flight  the  apocalyptic  imagination  of  the  early 
Christian  seer  pictures  the  divine  consummation  as  "  the  holy 
city,  new  Jerusalem,  coming  down  out  of  heaven  from  God, 
made  ready  as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband  ".  "  Every- 
thing harmonizes  with  me,  which  is  harmonious  to  thee,  O 
Universe  ",  mused  Marcus  Aurelius.  "  Nothing  for  me  is  too 
late,  which  is  in  due  time  for  thee  ".  And  then,  as  though 
addressing  himself  as  a  citizen  of  the  Universe  he  adds,  "  The 
poet  says,  Dear  City  of  Cecrops;  and  wilt  thou  not  say,  Dear 
City  of  Zeus?  ".  Augustine  thought  that  all  the  swirling 
streams  of  history,  sacred  and  profane,  though  dyed  red  by 
torrents  of  war  and  rapine,  would  be  stilled  and  purged  in 
the  eternal  "  City  of  God  ".  In  his  ideal  city  we  have  the  first 
attempt  at  a  philosophy  of  history  and  our  most  stupendous 
apologetic  for  the  finality  of  the  Christian  faith. 

From  the  earliest  times  the  city  has  furnished  the  choicest 
products  of  civilization.  Karnak's  pillared  aisles  and  avenues 
of  solemn  sphinxes  are  still  eloquent  witnesses  to  the  glories 
of  Egyptian  Thebes.  The  brilliant  city-states  of  Greece  and 
Rome  provided  the  centers  of  classic  culture.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  middle  ages  the  cities  of  northern  Italy  illustrated 
the  potentialities  of  intensive  urban  life  for  stimulating  the 
intellectual,  artistic,  and  economic  activities  of  men.  During 
the  eighteenth  century  the  city  fell  into  ill  repute,  especially 
in  the  minds  of  Protestants  of  the  Puritan  type,  owing  to  its 
vices  and  excesses.  London's  birth  rate  did  not  exceed  its 

397 


398  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

death  rate  until  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It 
was  not  until  the  tremendous  industrial  advance  of  the  mid- 
dle of  the  nineteenth  century  that  the  city  began  to  assume 
in  American  life  the  role  that  it  has  played  from  the  beginnings 
of  civilization. 

§  2.   THE  BACKGROUND  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY 

The  role  of  the  city  in  American  life  is  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  way  in  which  the  city  has  developed. 
Aside  from  a  few  cities  on  the  Atlantic  coast  the  American 
city  is  recent  and  inchoate  in  its  origin  and  growth.  It 
bears  all  the  tentativeness  and  uncertainty  of  an  experiment. 
The  vast  majority  of  our  cities  have  been  in  very  truth 
little  more  than  industrial  accidents.  The  exigencies  of 
rail  or  water  transportation,  the  discovery  of  valuable 
natural  resources  or  the  location  of  convenient  sites  for  mills 
and  factories,  these  rather  than  any  thought-out  plan  for  the 
furthering  of  human  welfare  have  determined  the  American 
city.  Around  industrial  and  transportation  centers  have  arisen 
huge  urban  agglomerates  with  amorphous  buildings  and  acci- 
dental streets.  The  problem  is  still  further  complicated  by 
the  fact  that  the  citizens  of  our  late  born  American  cities  have 
little  or  no  training  that  would  enable  them  to  appreciate  the 
problems  of  the  city.  Great  masses  of  foreigners  herded  to- 
gether in  our  mill  districts  are  prevented  by  racial  disabilities 
from  entering  in  any  effective  and  sympathetic  fashion  into  the 
corporate  life  of  the  city.  But  the  lack  of  civic  traditions  is 
not  due  solely  to  the  presence  of  the  foreigner.  The  mass  of 
native  Americans  come  to  the  city  from  the  country  and  the 
small  town,  imbued  with  the  traditions  of  a  rural  environ- 
ment which  do  not  fit  them  for  coping  successfully  with  the 
problems  of  intensive  city  life. 

The  lack  of  coherence  in  the  life  of  the  American  city  is 
strikingly  illustrated  by  comparing  the  modern  with  the 
ancient  or  mediaeval  city.  The  latter  was  imbued  with  the 
feeling  of  solidarity,  hedged  about  by  status.  In  ancient  and 
mediaeval  times  the  individual  lived  and  moved  and  had  his 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY     399 

being  in  the  city.  Plato  found  it  most  expedient  to  approach 
the  analysis  of  the  fundamental  virtue  of  justice  not  from  the 
individual  but  from  the  civic  point  of  view.  The  problem  of 
justice  that  seemed  so  confused  and  contradictory  from  the 
individual's  experience  was  written  in  large  and  legible  char- 
acters in  the  life  of  the  Athenian  city-state.  Likewise  the 
mediaeval  man  reasoned  from  the  city  and  the  status  it  guar- 
anteed him  to  the  problem  of  individual  rights.  Status  in  city 
or  state  predetermined  rights  and  duties  in  trade  and  industry. 
The  social  conscience,  therefore,  in  antiquity  and  in  mediaeval 
times  readily  found  its  orientation  in  the  corporate  life  of 
the  city. 

The  average  American,  however,  views  the  place  and 
the  function  of  the  city  in  his  life  as  more  or  less  negative. 
The  city  is  a  by-product  of  the  social  process  or,  at  best,  a  sort 
of  after-thought.  Its  demands  are  not  viewed  in  a  sympathetic 
light;  too  often  they  are  felt  to  be  unwarranted  interferences 
with  the  sovereign  rights  and  privileges  of  the  individual. 
Just  as  the  shacks  of  the  western  mining  town  were  more  or 
less  accidental  expressions  of  the  egoistic  impulses  of  the  gold- 
seeker,  so  the  city  is  here  to  satisfy  certain  external  and  neces- 
sary needs  of  the  individual.  The  city  must  protect  property, 
it  must  see  that  human  life  is  not  needlessly  sacrificed  through 
crime  or  disease,  it  must  provide  some  regulation  of  traffic 
in  the  interests  of  the  whole,  it  must  educate  the  rising  citizen- 
ship. But  it  does  not  enlist  the  whole-hearted  loyalty  of  the 
individual,  for  the  individual  finds  in  other  than  civic  activities 
the  highest  and  best  ways  to  develop  his  personality. 

Out  of  the  welter  of  individualism  encouraged  by  the 
pioneer  democracy  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  last  century, 
the  modern  city  was  born.  It  inherited  the  pioneer  ethics 
of  this  period  of  continental  conquest.  For  it  was  the  casual 
creation  of  men  who  minded  their  own  business  and  nothing 
else.  "  Like  the  continent  the  city  had  been  scarred  by 
the  same  waste  and  preemption,  the  same  insensate  opti- 
mism, the  same  utter  lack  of  prevision.  Cities  destined 
to  be  the  home  of  multitudes  had  grown  up  with  the 


400  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

abandon  of  petty  villages.  Streets  had  been  made  narrow; 
parks  had  been  forgotten;  houses  had  been  built  upon  the 
theory  of  packing  boxes;  drainage,  water  supply,  fire  protec- 
tion— everything  had  been  left  to  chance  and  the  play  of  the 
instinct  for  gain.  The  theory  of  the  American  city  was  that 
of  the  pioneer's  camp.  People  were  there  for  business.  Their 
living  conditions  must  work  out  for  themselves  ".  The  price 
America  paid  for  her  magnificent  individualism  was  a  "  wasted 
continent;  a  brick  and  mortar  substitute  for  a  city;  an  unregu- 
lated and  anarchic  industry;  a  city  slum;  and  an  appalling 
and  shameless  political  corruption  'V 

The  individualism  of  the  pioneer  background  out  of  which 
the  modern  American  city  originated  has  been  accentuated  by 
other  factors.  The  city  arose  to  meet  the  demands  for 
profits  and  for  economy  of  work  irrespective  of  the  effect 
upon  the  larger  question  of  human  values.  This  has  meant 
the  introduction  of  the  machine  process  and  rigid  standardiza- 
tion of  life.  Hence  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  philosophy 
of  the  machine  is  written  large  in  the  life  of  the  modern 
city.  The  machine's  mechanical  precision  is  reflected  in  the 
barren,  angular,  unlovely  streets  of  the  mill  town.  The 
machine's  uncompromising  spirit  appears  in  the  rigid,  up- 
standing mass  of  the  tall  office  building.  The  heartlessness 
and  impersonality  of  the  machine  are  recorded  even  in  the 
remote  and  passionless  expression  on  the  faces  in  the  streets. 
For  there  is  little  in  the  machine-process  to  kindle  human 
sympathies  or  arouse  the  higher  loyalties  of  men  without  which 
the  civic  spirit  is  impossible. 

Intimately  associated  with  the  machine-process  in  molding 
the  spirit  of  the  modern  city  is  the  principle  of  competition. 
If  the  machine  is  inclined  to  crush  and  ignore  those  feelings 
of  solidarity  and  civic  pride  that  have  been  the  glory  of  the 
city  in  the  past,  competition  tends  to  set  men  apart,  to  accen- 
tuate their  individualities.  For  competition  is  militant,  sus- 
picious, secretive.  It  arrays  worker  against  employer,  buyer 
against  seller,  laborer  against  capitalist,  entrepreneur  against 

1Weyl:  The  New  Democracy,  pp.  35,  66,  67. 


THE  BACKGROUND  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY     401 

consumer.  In  such  an  atmosphere  there  is  small  room  for 
the  spirit  of  "  sweet  reasonableness  "  without  which  there  can 
be  no  insight  into  the  deeper  needs  of  society  where  the  inter- 
ests of  men  are  one.  Where  militant  competition  rules,  men 
have  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to  sit  down  calmly 
to  consider  and  adjust  their  difficulties.  This  combination  of 
the  heartlessness  of  the  machine-process  with  the  competitive 
pecuniary  individualism  in  the  life  of  our  modern  cities  has 
induced  an  English  scholar  to  remark,  "  In  spite  of  the  ma- 
chinery of  political,  religious,  social,  and  trade  organizations 
in  large  towns,  it  is  probable  that  the  true  spiritual  cohesive- 
ness  between  individual  members  is  feebler  than  in  any  other 
form  of  society.  If  it  is  true  that  as  the  larger  village  grows 
into  the  town,  and  the  town  into  the  ever  larger  city,  there 
is  a  progressive  weakening  of  the  bonds  of  the  moral  cohesion 
between  individuals,  that  the  larger  the  town  the  feebler  the 
spiritual  unity,  we  are  face  to  face  with  the  heaviest  indict- 
ment that  can  be  brought  against  modern  industrial  progress, 
and  the  forces  driving  an  increasing  proportion  of  our  popu- 
lation into  towns  are  bringing  about  a  decadence  of  morale, 
which  is  the  necessary  counterpart  of  the  deterioration  of 
national  physique  'V 

The  problem  of  the  American  city  has  been  further 
complicated  by  the  play  of  political  forces.  At  the  time 
when  the  city  began  to  forge  to  the  front  as  a  factor  of 
prime  importance  in  the  rapidly  unfolding  American  society, 
namely,  at  the  close  of  the  civil  war,  the  mind  of  the 
nation  was  still  suffering  from  the  effect  of  the  struggle 
with  the  slave  power.  Few  to-day  have  any  conception 
of  the  partisanship  and  the  political  bigotry,  the  almost 
fanatical  zeal  that  characterized  the  thinking  of  men  upon 
all  national  issues  immediately  before,  during  and  after  the 
civil  war.  A  psychological  situation  had  been  created  in 
which  any  intelligent  consideration  of  problems  of  social  recon- 
struction was  impossible.  Perhaps  the  most  tragic  illustra- 
tion of  this  is  found  in  the  attempt  to  rehabilitate  the  ex-slave 

1  Hobson,  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  p.  342. 


402  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

states.  The  scandals  of  the  Tweed  ring  in  New  York  City, 
"  Black  Friday  "  in  Wall  street,  together  with  the  shameful 
exploitation  of  the  conquered  states  under  carpet-bag  rule,  cast 
a  shadow  over  Grant's  last  administration  and  strikingly 
illustrated  the  general  moral  bankruptcy  of  the  nation.  In 
such  a  chaotic  condition  of  the  national  mind  what  could  be 
expected  in  the  way  of  a  solution  of  the  growing  problem  of 
the  city? 

Since  1880  the  rise  of  the  independent  voter  is  an  indication 
of  the  tendency  of  men  to  revolt  against  the  political  ethic 
which  pronounces  a  man  a  political  pariah  for  failing  to  iden- 
tify himself  body  and  soul  with  some  party.  Without  the  pres- 
ence of  this  independent  vote  the  solution  of  the  problem  of 
the  city  is  impossible.  It  has  enabled  us  to  separate  local  from 
national  and  state  politics.  Even  the  politicians  of  the  old 
school  are  coming  to  recognize  the  right  of  the  voter  to  follow 
his  own  judgment  on  local  issues,  irrespective  of  party  affilia- 
tions. Thus,  after  long  and  disastrous  political  experiences, 
the  American  people  are  slowly  coming  to  recognize  what 
would  appear  to  be  almost  an  axiom  of  municipal  policy,  "  the 
incongruity  and  absurdity  of  the  intrusion  of  national  politics 
into  the  local  field,  and  the  positive  harm  to  the  city  of  sub- 
ordinating its  local  interests  to  the  claims  of  national  political 
partisanship,  thereby  preventing  the  city  from  having  or  fol- 
lowing a  local  policy  suited  to  its  own  needs  ".* 

§  3.   THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY 

It  is  only  recently  that  the  city  has  come  to  enjoy  anything 
like  an  independent  political  and  legal  status  in  American  life. 
Previous  to  the  last  two  or  three  decades  the  city  was  the 
"  abject  slave  of  legislative  caprice  ".  In  the  theory  of  law 
the  American  city  is  the  corporate  creation  of  the  state  legis- 
lature. So  far  as  the  rights  of  the  city  are  concerned,  there- 
fore, they  are  vested  in  a  power  beyond  the  control  of  its 
citizens.  The  ultimate  test  of  any  act  proposed  in  the 
interest  of  corporate  welfare  lies  not  in  the  will  of  the 

1  Deming,  The  Government  of  American  Cities,  p.  78. 


THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  CITY         403 

people  immediately  concerned  but  in  the  legislature.  The 
New  York  Municipal  Government  Association  found  that 
the  state  was  legislating  upon  domestic  details  which  should 
properly  be  left  to  the  towns  and  villages  concerned,  such 
as  issuing  bonds  for  the  improvement  of  cemeteries,  appoint- 
ing a  stenographer,  raising  funds  for  band  concerts,  sprin- 
kling and  oiling  the  streets,  borrowing  money  to  equip  a 
fire  department.  Until  1911  the  city  of  Cleveland  was 
unable  to  prevent  the  disfiguring  of  its  streets  by  signs,  to 
regulate  the  architectural  form  of  buildings  facing  public  high- 
ways, to  manufacture  ice  for  charitable  distribution,  to  banish 
dogs  from  the  city,  or  to  provide  public  lectures  and  entertain- 
ments. It  is  of  course  entirely  obvious  that  this  constant 
subordination  of  the  corporate  life  of  the  city  to  an  outside 
authority  makes  it  difficult  to  develop  civic  pride  or  civic 
initiative. 

Again  the  city  has  suffered  from  the  ingrained  fascination 
of  the  form  of  the  federal  government.  The  principle  of 
checks  and  balances  was  followed  in  the  bicameral  city 
legislature  and  the  pitting  of  administratve  and  legislative 
functions  against  each  other.  This  ignores  the  fact  that 
in  city  government  it  is  not  a  matter  of  safeguarding 
fundamental  human  rights,  as  in  the  case  of  the  federal 
government.  The  problem  of  the  city  is  one  of  securing  effec- 
tive means  for  interpreting  and  executing  the  will  of  the  com- 
munity. The  effective  education  of  the  social  conscience  of 
the  city  is  not  possible  without  some  means  of  definite  cen- 
tralization of  responsibility.  The  effect  of  pitting  executive 
against  legislative  and  of  the  multiplication  of  officials  con- 
fuses the  public  mind,  dissipates  responsibility  and  opens  the 
door  to  all  manner  of  political  abuses. 

Most  of  all  has  the  government  of  the  city  suffered  from 
the  pathetic  confidence  of  Americans  in  the  machinery 
of  government.  The  average  American  suffers  from  the 
strange  delusion  that  it  is  possible  to  formulate  a  piece  of 
political  machinery  so  perfect  as  to  insure  liberty  and 
justice  in  spite  of  the  vacillations  of  frail  human  nature. 


404  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

There  is  no  sadder  commentary  upon  the  story  of  American 
political  life  than  the  contrast  offered  between  the  detailed 
penalties  for  malfeasance  in  office,  the  elaborate  machinery  for 
securing  faithfulness  in  the  performance  of  political  duties  and 
the  sordid  political  reality. 

This  trust  in  the  machinery  of  government  has  been  unfor- 
tunate in  two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  the  sheer  fact  of  the 
existence  of  this  complex  political  machinery  tends  to  relieve 
the  official  himself  of  any  feeling  of  responsibility;  any  lib- 
erties, therefore,  which  he  may  give  himself  and  his  friends 
without  grossly  violating  the  machinery  of  government  are 
legitimate  and  right.  Hence  arises  the  vicious  dualism 
in  city  and  national  politics  between  the  theoretical  ideals 
of  democracy  as  laid  down  in  laws  and  constitutions  and 
the  "  rules  of  the  game  "  that  have  come  to  prevail  in  "  prac- 
tical "  politics.  In  the  second  place,  this  nai've  trust  in  the 
efficiency  of  governmental  machinery  encourages  the  average 
citizen  to  dismiss  from  his  mind  all  feeling  of  responsibility 
after  he  has  dutifully  selected  the  best  men  available  at  the 
polls.  The  watchfulness  of  public  opinion  becomes  dulled  in 
this  way.  In  the  end  men  become  accustomed  to  look  upon 
maladministration  on  the  part  of  those  in  power  as  part  of 
the  tare  and  tret  of  politics,  that  is,  as  more  or  less  unavoid- 
able. This  ingrained  torpidity  of  the  social  conscience  in  the 
matter  of  keeping  watch  upon  those  in  power  is  perhaps  the 
most  serious  hindrance  to  good  government  in  our  American 
cities. 

§  4.   THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

The  political  helplessness  of  the  city  together  with  its 
intimate  association  with  the  expanding  industrial  and  busi- 
ness life  of  the  community  made  possible  one  of  the  darkest 
pages  in  American  political  life.  The  city  was  only  a  cor- 
poration that  owed  its  rights  and  privileges  to  the  state.  This 
led  men  to  look  upon  it  from  the  selfish,  business  point  of 
view.  It  was  merely  another  corporation  that  could  be 
dealt  with  as  a  rival  concern.  This  was  intensified  by  past 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY  405 

individualistic  traditions.  For  the  average  man  had  come  to 
imagine  himself  protected  by  certain  inalienable  constitutional 
rights  in  the  possession  of  property  and  in  the  prosecution  of 
his  private  affairs.  He  felt  that  the  welfare  of  the  city,  as 
little  as  that  of  any  other  corporation,  depended  upon  his 
sympathy  and  cooperation.  The  city  came  to  be  looked  upon, 
therefore,  as  fair  game  in  the  universal  scramble  for  profits. 

The  rapidly  expanding  life  of  the  city  gave  rise  to  a  group 
of  public  utilities,  natural  monopolies  with  great  earning 
capacities.  They  naturally  proved  to  be  great  temptations  to 
the  profiteer.  The  companies  holding  these  franchises  were 
forced  into  politics  in  the  effort  to  protect  and  increase 
their  profits.  To  secure  political  power  the  franchise  owner 
had  to  associate  with  himself  police,  councillor,  mayor, 
and  all  the  machinery  of  the  city  government.  The  effort 
to  control  the  political  situation  in  the  interest  of  increased 
profits  did  not  stop  there  but  extended  to  the  courts  and 
the  state  legislatures.  In  this  wise  the  earning  capacity  of  these 
great  municipal  enterprises  gradually  drew  together  a  large  and 
varied  group  of  interests,  the  stock-holder,  the  city  office- 
seeker,  the  banker,  the  corporation  lawyer  and  a  host  of  allied 
business  interests  that  found  it  to  their  advantage  to  strengthen 
the  hands  of  the  franchise  holder.  Owing  to  the  indifference 
and  helplessness  of  the  average  citizen,  there  was  nothing  to 
offset  this  "  cohesive  power  of  public  plunder  "  that  served  to 
weld  into  one  powerful  group  those  who  manipulated  the 
city's  welfare  in  the  interest  of  private  gain. 

There  are  few  things  in  American  public  life  that  offer 
greater  cause  for  shame  than  this  exploitation  of  the  city  by 
the  political  profiteer.  "  For  his  own  profit  he  has  wilfully 
befouled  the  sources  of  political  power.  Politics,  which  should 
offer  a  career  inspiring  to  the  thoughts  and  calling  for  the  most 
patriotic  efforts  of  which  man  is  capable,  he  has,  so  far  as  he 
could,  transformed  into  a  series  of  sordid  transactions  between 
those  who  buy  and  those  who  sell  governmental  action.  His 
success  has  depended  upon  hiding  the  methods  by  which  he  has 
gained  his  ends.  All  the  forms  through  which  the  voters  are 


406  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

accustomed  to  exercise  their  rights  have  been  strictly  observed. 
Untroubled  by  conscientious  scruples,  consistently  non- 
partisan,  he  has  welcomed  the  support  of  every  party  and 
been  prompt  to  reward  the  aid  of  any  political  manager.  Step 
by  step  he  gained  control  of  the  party  machinery.  His  fellow 
citizens  have  been  in  profound  ignorance  that  he  named  all 
the  candidates  among  whom  they  made  their  futile  choice  on 
election  day  "-1  Thus  it  happened  that  while  the  august 
symbols  and  forms  of  government  remained  apparently  invio- 
late the  real  government  of  city  and  state  passed  into  the 
hands  of  "  an  elaborate  feudal  system  with  its  lords  and 
overlords,  each  with  his  retinue  of  followers  and  dependents, 
all  supported  at  the  expense  of  the  public  'V 

In  time  this  body  of  interests  created  by  the  profiteer  took 
on  the  form  of  a  systematic  organization  at  the  head  of  which 
was  the  "  boss  ".  The  "  boss  "  was  not  at  first  felt  to  be  an 
untoward  phenomenon.  The  nai've  public  did  not  distinguish 
him  from  the  inevitable  and  necessary  party  leader.  In  time 
men  began  to  realize,  however,  that  the  "  boss  "  was  in  reality 
but  the  sign  of  something  more  ominous,  namely  organized  and 
systematized  graft.  It  was  found  that  his  power  extended  far 
beyond  the  traditional  lines  of  party.  His  sinister  influence 
struck  its  roots  deep  into  the  business  and  industrial  life  of 
the  community.  Thus  in  time  did  the  problem  of  the  city 
slowly  dawn  upon  the  masses.  It  was  the  problem  of  ridding 
free  democratic  institutions  of  the  sordid  tyranny  created 
by  the  unholy  alliance  between  profiteer  and  politician.  Is 
government  to  be  bought  and  sold?  This  is  the  question.  If 
the  city  loses  the  fight  it  will  mean  the  defeat  of  democracy 
in  the  state  and  the  nation.  For  the  city  is  to  prove  either 
the  hope  or  the  despair  of  democracy. 

The  evil  effects  of  the  "  system  "  in  the  moral  life  of  the 
city  are  perhaps  most  strikingly  in  evidence  in  dealing  with 
the  problem  of  vice.  There  are  certain  violent  forms  of  wrong- 
doing, such  as  murder,  arson,  or  burglary,  that  will  always  be 
committed  even  where  the  police  and  city  administration  are 

1  Deming,  op.  cit.,  p.  194. 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY  407 

above  reproach.  The  real  test  of  civic  righteousness  is  found 
in  the  control  of  forms  of  vice,  such  as  gambling,  immoral 
shows,  prostitution,  and  the  illegal  sale  of  liquor.  These  can 
only  flourish  where  there  is  collusion  with  those  in  power  or 
where  there  is  inexcusable  negligence  in  the  administration  of 
civic  affairs.  The  alliance  between  the  corrupt  politician  and 
the  profiteer  tends  to  facilitate  an  understanding  with  the 
forces  of  vice  and  corruption.  For  profitism  is  not  choice 
either  in  its  methods  or  in  its  affiliations.  The  stock  in  a 
brewing  company  or  in  a  gambling  concern  may  enjoy  just 
as  good  a  rating  in  the  market  as  the  most  legitimate  forms 
of  business.  Mr.  McAdoo,  writing  of  the  gambling  evil  in 
New  York,  asserts  that  we  must  rid  our  minds  of  the  notion 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  a  few  disreputable  characters  such  as 
the  professional  gambler  or  the  jail  bird.  "  Taking  the  thing 
as  a  whole  it  is  simply  a  vast  business  run  on  business  prin- 
ciples, backed  by  men  of  influence  and  power,  capitalized  lib- 
erally and  on  a  strictly  scientific  basis;  there  is  no  watered 
stock  or  over-issuing  of  bonds  on  the  part  of  these  syndicates; 
everything  is  down  to  actual  money." 

The  "  system  "  which  is  in  the  game  for  profits  and  profits 
alone  does  not  draw  invidous  distinctions  as  to  the  sources 
of  its  spoils.  The  funds  paid  by  a  perfectly  legitimate  busi- 
ness for  favors  is  welcomed  just  as  readily  as  those  garnered 
from  the  bawdy  house.  Hence,  it  has  been  argued  by  social 
reformers  that  the  problem  of  the  control  of  the  vicious  ele- 
ments in  the  city  can  never  be  solved  by  "  investigations  "  or 
"  exposures  "  or  stringent  repressive  measures  by  a  reform 
party  that  for  the  time  being  has  gained  the  ascendency.  "  If 
vice  is  an  organized  business  ",  writes  Professor  Beard,  "  built 
on  a  profit  basis  in  which  land-lords,  saloon-keepers,  hotel- 
proprietors,  and  a  whole  range  of  powerful  interests  are  deeply 
involved,  and  report  after  report  demonstrates  this  to  be  a 
fact  .  .  .  then  is  it  not  sheer  imbecility  to  waste  our  time 
and  strength  on  '  exposures '  of  the  police,  the  '  raiding '  of 
resorts,  and  the  whole  range  of  coercive  measures  which 
1  divert '  good  people,  but  do  nothing  worth  while  to  attack 


408  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

fundamental  causes?  Mere  repressive  measures  are  always 
and  necessarily  temporary  and  ineffectual.  Too  many  ruling 
persons  and  their  retainers,  as  the  recent  Chicago  investigation 
shows,  have  economic  interests  in  the  chief  sources  of  crime 
and  vice  ".* 

But  the  most  insidious  and  dangerous  influence  of  the 
"  system  "  in  the  life  of  the  city  is  not  found  in  its  collusions 
with  vice  and  corruption.  The  real  menace  of  the  "  system  " 
is  that  it  tends  in  time  to  create  a  group  consciousness,  a  feel- 
ing of  solidarity,  a  standard  of  values  in  civic  life.  This  group 
consciousness,  based  in  the  last  analysis  upon  cupidity,  usurps 
the  place  in  the  thought  of  many  men  not  really  corrupt  or 
debased  that  should  be  occcupied  by  the  nobler  feelings  of  civic 
pride.  In  this  wise  many  excellent  individuals  become  arrayed 
against  the  real  interests  of  the  city  and  that  by  means  of 
those  civic  instrumentalities  that  should  serve  to  create  a 
vigorous  and  enlightened  social  conscience.  It  is  not  that 
the  measure  of  values  in  business,  namely,  profits,  is  made 
supreme  in  politics,  a  situation  deplorable  enough,  but  that 
the  possibility  of  developing  a  higher  civic  sense  is  precluded 
by  the  fact  that  the  chosen  instrumentalities  for  the  creation 
of  this  civic  sense  have  been  already  prostituted  to  selfish 
pecuniary  interests. 

The  presence  within  our  cities  of  this  closely  integrated 
body  of  interests  and  loyalties  associated  with  the  "  system  " 
or  interested  in  its  preservation  has  formed  and  still  forms 
perhaps  the  most  serious  hindrance  to  the  formation  of  an 
efficient  civic  conscience.  The  problem  is  made  more  difficult 
by  the  fact  that  the  ethics  of  the  system  or  at  least  its 
measures  of  values  and  its  methods  of  procedure  bear  a  super- 
ficial resemblance  to  those  of  legitimate  business.  Men,  taught 
to  look  upon  profits  as  the  one  supreme  test  of  values  in  busi- 
ness, find  it  difficult  to  see  anything  wrong  in  applying  the 
same  test  to  the  administration  of  the  city's  affairs.  Why 
should  not  the  city,  just  as  in  the  case  of  any  other  corporation 
created  by  state  law,  be  treated  as  a  legitimate  field  by  the 

1  Beard,  op.  cit.,  p.  186. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  SOLUTION  OF  PROBLEM       409 

seeker  for  profits?  Why  should  not  a  company  be  allowed  to 
run  a  public  utility  exactly  in  the  same  way  that  it  would 
manage  its  mine  or  its  mill?  If  a  corporation  owns  a  public 
franchise,  by  what  right  does  the  city  attempt  to  interfere 
with  the  profits  of  that  corporation?  Thus  does  the  logic  of 
business,  applied  to  civic  affairs,  complicate  for  us  the  problem 
of  civic  righteousness. 

§  5.   SUGGESTIONS  FOR  THE  SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM 
OF  THE  CITY 

"  Municipal  institutions  are  to  liberty,"  says  DeTocque- 
ville,  "what  primary  schools  are  to  science;  they  bring  it 
within  the  people's  reach;  they  teach  men  how  to  use  and  how 
to  enjoy  it.  A  nation  may  establish  a  free  government,  but 
without  the  spirit  of  municipal  institutions  it  can  not  have 
the  spirit  of  liberty  ".  Undoubtedly  the  great  problem  of  the 
future  in  American  democracy  is  to  develop  those  civic  instru- 
mentalities which  will  enable  the  city  to  play  the  role 
DeTocqueville  saw  that  it  was  intended  to  play  in  the  life  of 
a  free  people. 

This  will  involve  the  securing  from  the  state  of  those  con- 
stitutional guarantees  for  the  free  exercise  of  those  rights 
and  activities  that  concern  the  immediate  welfare  of  the  city. 
This  will  involve  the  elimination  of  partisan  politics  from  city 
affairs  together  with  its  inevitable  accompaniment,  the  political 
boss.  This  will  necessitate  the  introduction  of  changes  in 
methods  of  election,  such  as  the  short  ballot,  by  means  of  which 
the  average  citizen  will  be  able  to  concentrate  his  attention 
upon  a  few  important  issues  and  the  men  they  represent.  This 
will  mean  the  centralization  of  responsibility  and  the  simplify- 
ing of  administrative  agencies  through  commission  government, 
city  manager  or  otherwise,  thereby  making  definite  individuals 
responsible  for  those  policies  desired  by  the  community.  This 
will  mean  the  creation  of  a  body  of  experts  in  the  various 
departments  of  municipal  service  who  will  hold  their  posi- 
tions through  merit  and  not  through  political  fear  or  /avor. 
This  will  mean,  above  all  things,  that  those  vital  organs  of 


4io  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

municipal  welfare,  the  public  utilities,  will  be  controlled  and, 
as  far  as  feasible,  owned  by  the  city  so  that  through  them  the 
free  corporate  life  of  the  city  with  all  its  countless  interests 
may  secure  effective  and  healthful  expression.  It  will  be  seen 
that  the  program  for  the  attainment  of  an  effective  civic  con- 
science is  one  that  is  both  complex  and  difficult  of  execution. 
But  the  task  may  not  be  shirked,  for  in  this  direction  alone 
lies  any  hope  for  a  successful  solution  of  the  problem  of  the 
city  and  of  American  democracy. 

The  factor  that  is  responsible  more  than  any  other  per- 
haps for  the  marvellous  development  of  American  industry 
and  business  has  been  freedom.  The  right  to  develop,  to 
organize,  to  incorporate,  to  invent,  to  invest,  to  manipu- 
late the  resources  of  nature — this  is  what  made  possible 
our  mastery  over  the  material  forces  of  civilization.  With- 
out freedom  the  American  city  can  never  play  its  proper 
role  in  the  life  of  the  nation.  Home  rule,  therefore,  is  the 
first  step  towards  the  emancipation  of  the  city  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  civic  conscience.  Constitutional  guarantees  must 
be  won  that  will  deliver  the  city  from  its  bondage  to  the  state 
legislature.  This  can  only  come  through  an  enlightened  public 
sentiment.  "  The  representative  local  governments  which  our 
cities  need  for  the  development  of  a  wholesome,  self-reliant, 
and  efficient  community-life  can  be  secured  only  as  the  result 
of  state  action  in  response  to  a  widespread  and  persistent 
popular  demand.  .  .  .  Agitation,  enlightenment,  persuasion, 
intelligent  opportunism — these  are  the  methods  through  which 
every  political  advance  has  been  made  in  the  United  States. 
It  is  through  them  that  our  cities  must  win  the  right  of  self- 
government  'V  It  is  through  just  such  campaigns  for  the  edu- 
cation of  the  public  that  the  intelligent  and  efficient  civic 
conscience  will  be  gained  that  will  assure  the  proper  exercise 
of  municipal  freedom. 

It  is  evident,  however,  that  to  free  the  city  from  the  tradi- 
tional dominance  of  the  state  legislature  or  to  emancipate  it 
from  partisan  politics  will  not  solve  the  problem.  It  is  im- 

1  Deming,  op.  cit.,  p.  174. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  SOLUTION  OF  PROBLEM       411 

perative  for  the  effective  organization  of  sentiment  that  the 
voter  be  able  to  concentrate  his  attention  upon  a  few  officials 
responsible  for  a  definite  policy.  These  policy-determining 
officials  should  be  sharply  distinguished  from  those  whose 
functions  are  purely  administrative  or  technical.  Back  of  the 
general  movement  toward  commission  government  or  a  city 
manager  we  can  detect  this  desire  for  a  definite  and  effective 
means  for  the  interpretation  and  execution  of  the  community 
will.  The  psychological  principles  involved  are  simple. 
For  it  is  a  familiar  fact  that  where  the  social  will  is 
forced  to  function  in  a  given  situation  and  through  definite 
instruments  the  result  will  be  in  time  habits  of  thought, 
standards  of  values,  that  are  largely  "  mental  patterns " 
created  by  these  situations  and  instruments.  Where  we  have 
municipal  machinery  that  can  be  relied  upon  in  the  execu- 
tion of  the  desires  of  the  people  it  reacts  upon  those  desires 
and  moral  ideals  and  tends  to  give  them  permanence  and 
vitality.  On  the  other  hand,  where  the  will  of  the  community 
is  constantly  being  obscured  and  defeated  through  inefficient 
administration  or  through  the  manipulation  of  politicians,  the 
result  will  be  a  slow  and  inevitable  process  of  education  down- 
wards towards  social  and  municipal  inefficiency,  civic  indiffer- 
ence and  moral  impotence.  This  perhaps  is  the  most  dis- 
couraging phase  of  American  civic  life  in  the  past;  it  is  the 
most  dangerous  menace  to  the  moral  integrity  of  the  com- 
munity. Corruption  or  long  continued  inefficiency  inevitably 
lowers  the  moral  tone  of  the  city,  accustoms  men  to  lax  ethical 
standards,  and  this  reacts  upon  the  spirit  of  American  democ- 
racy, influencing  in  a  thousand  subtle  ways  the  public  and 
private  life  of  the  nation. 

Obviously  one  of  the  most  effective  instruments  for  the 
education  of  the  civic  sense  of  the  masses  of  men  is  the  intel- 
ligent expenditure  of  public  funds.  Yet  the  Bureau  of 
Municipal  Research  of  New  York  after  examining  the  finan- 
cial reports  of  seventy-five  American  cities,  states,  "  Of  the 
seventy-five  cities,  sixty-eight  do  not  show,  with  respect  to 
current  expenses  and  revenues,  how  much  they  have  spent, 


4i2  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

including  bills  not  paid  and  revenues  due  but  not  yet  received. 
There  is  thus  no  proper  income  account.  Assets  are  not  shown 
by  forty-eight  of  the  cities,  which  thus  have  no  balance  sheet, 
twenty-nine  do  not  show  the  balance  of  appropriations  unex- 
pended, and  twenty-one  do  not  state  their  bonded  debt.  If 
the  books  of  large  private  corporations  were  kept  with  the 
looseness  displayed  by  the  municipalities  no  expert  accountant 
would  or  could  certify  to  their  correctness  'V  Contrast  this 
statement  with  the  splendid  moral  discipline  gained  through 
the  thrifty  administration  of  civic  affairs  in  a  city  such  as 
Glasgow,2  and  we  realize  what  a  powerful  factor  the  city 
budget  may  be  made  in  informing  and  disciplining  the  minds 
of  citizens  as  to  their  civic  interests  and  duties. 

One  of  the  most  hopeful  indications  for  the  development  of 
an  effective  civic  sense  is  the  rise  of  the  city  expert.  With  the 
application  of  trained  minds  to  the  problems  of  the  city  will 
come  the  constant  accumulation  of  scientifically  tested  prin- 
ciples of  city  policy  which  will  assure  to  the  thinking  public 
a  measure  of  sanity  and  maturity  of  judgment  in  their 
grasp  of  civic  problems.  The  great  handicap  of  the  well- 
intentioned  citizen  of  the  past  has  been  the  almost  utter  lack 
of  such  a  body  of  knowledge.  The  result  has  been  that  too 
often  when  the  reform  element  has  gained  control  it  has  been 
embarrassed  by  the  lack  of  technical  knowledge  and  mastery 
of  detail  and  has  made  mistakes  which  caused  it  to  lose  the 
confidence  of  the  public.  This  has  provided  the  "  practical  " 
politician  with  the  desired  opportunity  for  regaining  control  of 
the  situation.  It  must  be  confessed  that,  so  far  as  mastery  of 
details  is  concerned,  the  skilled  politician  has  heretofore  proven 
more  than  a  match  for  the  reformer  in  spite  of  the  latter's 
well-meaning  moral  idealism. 

Closely  associated  with  the  educative  effect  of  the  expert 
in  training  the  civic  conscience  is  the  press,  not  the  daily  press 
which  unfortunately  can  not  always  be  depended  upon  to  give 
the  facts,  but  municipal  organs  such  as  the  Denver  Municipal 

1  Beard,  op.  cit.,  p.  154. 

2 Howe:  The  British  City,  Ch.  XIII. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  SOLUTION  OF  PROBLEM       413 

Facts,  The  Municipal  Record  of  San  Francisco,  and  the  City 
Record  of  New  York.  The  same  end  is  furthered  by  organi- 
zations and  clubs,  some  more  or  less  political  such  as  voters' 
leagues,  some  devoted  to  special  problems  of  the  city  such  as 
the  child,  housing,  poverty,  and  the  like.  To  these  must  be 
added  bureaus  of  research  interested  in  the  scientific  and 
sociological  phase  of  the  city.  All  contribute  to  the  one  end 
of  supreme  importance,  the  formation  of  a  body  of  reliable 
information  which  gradually  crystallizes  in  the  mind  of  the 
aveiage  citizen  and  enables  him  to  pronounce  intelligently 
upon  civic  questions.  This  enlightened  social  conscience  is  in 
the  last  analysis  the  only  reliable  protection  against  the  hosts 
of  enemies  that  have  hitherto  preyed  upon  the  economic,  intel- 
lectual, and  moral  welfare  of  the  city. 

One  of  the  most  familiar  facts  of  American  life  is  the  in- 
difference of  the  average  man  to  matters  of  civic  interest.  It 
is  of  course  perfectly  obvious  that  no  efficient  social  con- 
science can  ever  be  developed  until  this  feeling  of  indifference 
is  overcome.  We  have  here  a  powerful  argument  for  municipal 
ownership.  For  it  offers  one  of  the  most  effective  means  of 
creating  a  feeling  of  warmth  and  intimacy  in  the  individual 
towards  his  city.  "  The  experience  of  Great  Britain  ",  writes 
Mr.  Howe,  "  seems  to  demonstrate  that  the  greater  the  num- 
ber of  things  done  by  the  city  the  better  they  will  be  done.  In 
America  we  have  reversed  that  which  is  a  commonplace  in  all 
other  affairs  of  life,  and  failed  to  appreciate  that  interest, 
affection  and  work  are  in  a  direct  ratio  with  responsibility  'V 
The  property  instinct  that  has  played  such  a  fundamental 
role  in  the  development  of  individual  character  can  and 
must  be  utilized  in  the  creation  of  a  body  of  corporate  sen- 
timent in  municipal  affairs.  Nothing  so  stifles  and  alien- 
ates this  community  of  feeling  as  a  situation  in  which  the  body 
of  the  citizenship  is  made  to  suspect  that  municipal  institu- 
tions are  being  utilized  for  their  exploitation.  The  city  in  this 
way  comes  to  be  considered  an  enemy  that  must  be  fought 
instead  of  a  friend,  an  ally  to  be  protected  and  served. 

1  The  City,  the  Hope  of  Democracy,  p.  156. 


4i4  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

A  most  serious  hindrance  to  the  development  of  enlight- 
ened public  sentiment  in  our  large  cities  has  been  the  com- 
mercialization of  the  daily  press.  Our  great  dailies  are  on 
the  whole  far  from  being  socially  minded.  This  "  defec- 
tion of  the  daily  press,"  says  Professor  Ross,  "  has  been  a 
staggering  blow  to  democracy."  *  The  moral  leadership  en- 
joyed by  Greeley,  Dana,  Halstead  and  others  is  gone.  A 
study  of  the  readers  of  the  daily  press  in  Chicago  revealed  the 
fact  that  the  majority  of  men  go  to  the  newspaper  for  news  or 
for  advertising,  but  not  for  guidance  on  civic,  moral  or 
political  issues.  One  looks  in  vain  in  the  columns  of  the 
average  paper  for  enlightened  and  unbiased  discussions  of 
such  burning  issues  as  capital  and  labor,  government  control, 
the  problem  of  profits,  the  distribution  of  wealth,  or  the  nature 
of  democracy  itself. 

For  this  unfortunate  situation  the  editor  can  hardly  be 
blamed.  He  is  in  reality  the  victim  of  economic  forces  that 
have  transformed  the  more  or  less  poverty-stricken  but  inde- 
pendent organs  of  earlier  days  into  great  capitalistic  enter- 
prises. The  great  municipal  daily  is  today  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  a  vast  "business  proposition,"  often  representing 
millions.  The  owners  of  these  great  properties  insist  that 
they  be  run  on  a  money-making  basis.  The  newspaper,  there- 
fore, has  become  a  "  factory  where  ink  and  brains  are  so  ap- 
plied to  white  paper  as  to  turn  out  the  largest  possible  mar- 
ketable product."  In  this  way  the  commodity  of  publicity 
offered  for  sale  for  the  convenience  of  the  business  world  en- 
croaches upon  the  ancient  democratic  and  moral  function  of 
the  newspaper  as  the  faithful  purveyor  of  the  news,  the  mouth- 
piece of  a  free  and  democratic  people,  the  keeper  of  the  social 
conscience.  The  editorial  column  has  become  more  or  less  an 
incident,  a  sop  thrown  to  a  time-honored  tradition  still  dear  to 
the  hearts  of  a  liberty-loving  people. 

1  Changing  America,  p.  131. 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL  415 

§  6.   THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL 

More  than  anything  else  perhaps  the  lack  of  spiritual  vis- 
ion, the  inability  to  arouse  the  higher  enthusiasm  of  men,  is 
responsible  for  the  failure  to  lift  the  civic  spirit  from  the  mire 
into  which  it  has  fallen  through  our  neglect.  We  have  little 
of  that  civic  enthusiasm  which  led  the  citizens  of  Athens  to 
spend  large  sums  on  public  contests  and,  when  victors,  to 
ask  no  other  reward  than  the  privilege  of  erecting  at  their 
own  cost  a  choregic  monument  on  the  streets  of  the  city.  The 
city  will  never  solve  its  problems  until  it  succeeds  in  arousing 
the  spirit  of  noblesse  oblige  that  prompts  men  to  abandon 
lucrative  positions  to  serve  the  community  for  the  sheer  love 
of  it. 

A  movement  that  has  proven  most  disconcerting  to  tra- 
ditional party  loyalties  and  has  provoked  much  discussion  is 
the  spread  of  Socialism  in  American  cities,  such  as  Milwaukee, 
Akron,  Columbus,  and  Dayton.  In  the  recent  campaign  for 
the  mayoralty  of  New  York  City  the  number  of  votes  polled 
by  the  Socialist  candidate,  Mr.  Hilquit,  likewise  challenges 
explanation.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  the  spread  of  Socialism 
is  due  primarily  to  the  moral  bankruptcy  of  the  old  regime  of 
city  government.  "  It  is  in  the  boss-ruled,  corporation-ridden, 
tax-burdened  city,  with  its  poorly  paved,  ill-lighted,  dirty 
streets,  its  insufficient  water-supply  and  air-filled  mains,  its 
industrial  fire-traps,  its  graft-protected  vice  districts,  its  fat 
politicians,  untaxed  wealth,  crooked  contracts  and  wasteful 
resources,  that  Socialism  finds  its  best  object-lessons  and  has 
won  some  of  its  most  significant,  if  not  most  of  its  numerous 
successes." 1 

But  this  alone  does  not  suffice  to  explain  the  attraction 
of  Socialism  to  many  sober  American  citizens.  There  is  an 
unmistakable  note  of  idealism  running  through  the  Socialist 
municipal  programs.  The  emphasis  of  home  rule,  of  mun- 
icipal ownership,  improved  sanitation  in  tenements,  free  em- 
ployment agencies,  enlargement  of  the  functions  of  the  school 

iHoxie,  Journal  of  Political  Science,  Oct.  1911. 


4i6  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

system,  the  erection  of  public  institutions  such  as  markets, 
cold-storage  plants,  abattoirs,  and  the  introduction  of  the  eight 
hour  day  in  municipal  work  have  all  appealed  to  the  im- 
agination of  men  just  beginning  to  feel  the  dynamic  spirit 
of  a  new  democracy.  There  is,  underlying  all  these  municipal 
programs,  an  emphasis  of  fundamental  human  values,  a  recog- 
nition of  comprehensive  social  needs,  for  which  we  look  in 
vain  under  the  old  regime  of  partisan  politics.  Most  conclu- 
sively do  these  schemes  for  civic  betterment  and  the  response 
they  have  aroused  in  many  cities  prove  the  mistake  of  those 
who  imagine  that  the  selfish  appeal  of  the  spoils  system  or  the 
economic  motive  of  profit  alone  can  be  depended  upon  to  in- 
spire the  hearts  of  men.  To  be  sure,  the  "  cohesive  power  of 
public  plunder  "  has  proven  a  powerful  factor  in  the  past  in 
uniting  men  and  in  securing  effective  group  action.  But  the 
power  of  these  lower  appeals  was  due  as  much  to  the  lack  of 
any  competing  ideal  of  a  noble  character  as  to  the  natural  sus- 
ceptibility of  men  to  selfish  interests.  We  have  yet  to  learn 
in  civic  life  the  power  of  the  ideal. 

But  such  moral  idealism  can  not  come  without  adequate 
leadership.  Where  are  we  to  look  for  such  leadership  in  the 
city?  Is  it  to  be  furnished  by  the  pulpit,  the  school,  the 
social  worker,  or  the  professions?  Hardly.  These  may  and 
are  even  now  making  their  contributions.  But  the  real  lead- 
ership must  come  from  that  group  which  in  reality  shapes  the 
spirit  of  our  modern  civilization,  namely,  the  business  man. 
For  it  is  important  to  remember,  as  was  pointed  out  in 
a  previous  chapter,  that  the  present  is  an  industrial  civiliza- 
tion, shaped  by  the  machine  process  and  animated  by  the 
spirit  of  business  enterprise.  What  the  minister  was  to  the 
society  of  Puritan  New  England,  the  business  leader  is  to  the 
modern  social  order.  He  is  the  high  priest  of  the  Great 
Society.  To  be  sure,  he  holds  this  position  of  power  not 
by  any  special  merit  of  his  own.  The  modern  industrial  so- 
ciety is  the  result  of  a  long  evolution.  But  those  who  occupy 
this  place  of  power  and  of  privilege  in  our  modern  life  can 
not  escape  its  responsibilities.  The  duty  of  pointing  the  way 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL  41  f 

to  a  better  day  can  not  be  relegated  to  teacher,  minister,  poli- 
tician or  social  reformer  while  the  business  man  "  plays  the 
game  "  for  profits.  The  keeping  of  the  social  conscience  of 
the  city,  in  so  far  as  it  has  a  keeper,  and  the  shaping  of  the 
social  conscience  of  the  city  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  shaped 
are  largely  in  the  hands  of  our  leading  business  men.  If  the 
present  industrial  order  breaks  down,  as  some  think  that  even 
now  it  shows  signs  of  doing,  the  burden  of  responsibility  for 
its  moral  bankruptcy  will  rest  squarely  upon  the  shoulders 
of  the  business  man. 

There  is  in  every  city  an  effective  instrument  through  which 
the  business  man  can  make  his  influence  felt,  namely,  the 
chamber  of  commerce.  "  The  antedotc  for  false  leadership," 
writes  Mr.  Lucius  E.  Wilson,  vice-president  of  the  American 
City  Bureau,  "  is  the  modern  chamber  of  commerce.  Its  or- 
ganized machinery  tests  the  soundness  and  the  hopefulness  of 
men  and  ideas  as  no  other  institution  does."  *  There  is  not 
lacking  evidence  that  this  influential  agency  of  the  business 
life  of  the  city  is  gaining  a  new  sense  of  its  social  responsi- 
bility. In  opposition  to  its  antiquated  predecessors  the  mod- 
ern chamber  of  commerce  seems  at  last  to  be  awakening  to 
the  true  community  spirit.  It  no  longer  talks  the  language 
of  the  smug  materialism  of  other  days  though  this  language 
is  still  echoed  in  popular  text-books  on  economics.  Pro- 
fessor N.  A.  Brisco,  for  example,  begins  his  excellent 
book  Economics  of  Efficiency,  with  these  words,  "  This 
is  the  age  of  industry.  Industrial  achievement  is  the  aim 
and  goal  of  all  civilized  nations."  "  Cities  live  by  their 
business  life  with  the  outside  world,'*  says  another  writer, 
"  and  on  this  foundation  build  whatever  superstructures  of 
religion,  culture  and  morals  their  inclinations  and  their  means 
allow."  To  this  must  be  opposed  the  words  of  President 
Hadley,  "  No  economist  of  reputation  at  the  present  day 
would  attempt  to  ignore  the  ethical  aspects  of  an  institution, 
as  might  have  been  done  fifty  years  ago.  He  would  say 
that  nothing  can  be  economically  beneficial  which  was  ethically 

1  Community  Leadership,  p.  59. 


4i 8  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

bad,  because  such  benefit  could  be  only  transitory."  Wealth 
is  of  two  kinds,  material  and  immaterial.  If  we  place  in  one 
heap  all  material  wealth  in  manufactured  products,  mills, 
merchandise,  newspapers  and  buildings,  and  set  over  against 
this  the  ideals  that  animate  the  masses,  this  intangible  spiritual 
possession  will  outweigh  the  material.  For  in  reality  the  ma- 
terial wealth  is  the  creation  of  the  spiritual  wealth  of  the 
community. 

Business  leaders  are  beginning  to  draw  a  very  healthful 
distinction  between  wealth  and  welfare.  It  is  being  real- 
ized that  these  two  terms  are  not  synonomous  and  that  the 
latter  must  take  precedence  over  the  former  in  any  sane  phil- 
osophy of  life.  When  once  this  fundamental  distinction  is 
grasped  it  will  be  possible  to  place  a  check  upon  the  irrational 
expansiveness  of  profitism  and  to  see  that  first  and  foremost 
the  forces  of  the  business  world  seek  a  normal  standard  of 
life.  If  we  are  ever  to  get  away  from  wasteful  economic  self- 
assertion  and  succeed  in  the  herculean  task  of  rationalizing 
business  enterprise  and  teaching  it  to  recognize  some  far-flung 
goal  of  social  and  national  good,  it  must  be  through  the 
powerful  influence  of  the  group  of  men  who  occupy  the 
strategical  position  in  our  modern  life.  It  can  never  be  done 
effectively  by  those  on  the  outside. 

The  business  group  who  dominated  the  life  of  the  city  of 
a  generation  ago  were  wont  to  talk  in  mysterious  and  august 
tones  of  the  primacy  of  "  the  interests  of  business."  One 
gathered  the  impression  that  "  business  interests  "  were  some- 
thing apart  from  the  life  of  the  ordinary  man  and  were  sacro- 
sanct. For  government  or  the  outsider  to  seek  to  penetrate 
this  inner  circle  was  not  only  dangerous  but  impudent  inter- 
meddling. It  might  even  be  imagined  "  that  the  human  race 
was  created  for  the  good  of  Business — and,  later,  for  the  god 
of  Business.  These  same  selfish  men  acknowledged  with  be- 
coming ponderosity  that  they  were  the  high  priests  of  the 
newly  discovered  god."  But  this  air  of  mysterious  and  sacro- 
sanct dignity  no  longer  animates  the  business  man  of  to-day. 
He  is  coming  more  and  more  to  realize  that  the  problems  of 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL  419 

the  city  and  the  community  are  his  problems,  even  more  than 
they  are  the  problems  of  the  average  man,  because  of  the 
responsibilities  of  his  position. 

Finally,  the  business  man  of  the  new  order  is  beginning 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  psychological  principle  underlying 
our  great  urban  civilization  and  making  it  possible,  namely, 
that  effective  team-work  presupposes  effective  team-thinking. 
Here  at  last  the  prevailing  business  order  seems  to  find  com- 
mon ground  with  democracy.  Within  the  realm  of  business 
enterprise  we  can  trust  to  the  impetus  of  profitism  to  secure 
the  effective  application  of  team-spirit.  It  is  the  secret  of 
the  marvellous  success  of  many  industrial  institutions.  But 
can  we  trust  the  business  man  to  extend  the  spirit  of  team- 
spirit  and  team-work  beyond  the  sphere  of  business  and  apply 
it  to  the  city  and  to  the  community?  Can  we  expect  to 
vitalize  the  existing  social  machinery  for  team-thinking  and 
team-work  or  to  create  machinery  where  it  is  non-existent  by 
any  other  appeal  than  that  of  business  gain?  Or,  stating  the 
problem  in  still  stronger  terms,  can  we  expect  the  business  man 
to  subordinate  the  team-spirit  of  business  to  the  team-spirit  of 
civic  progress  when  the  two  conflict?  This  is  the  fundamental 
problem  of  the  city  and  of  American  democracy. 

Workers  for  reform  in  civic  affairs  have  not  yet  learned 
how  to  utilize  the  latent  idealism  of  American  life.  Efforts 
to  better  the  city  have  too  often  been  motivated  by  ends  that 
do  not  call  out  the  best  that  is  in  men.  This  is  shown  in  the 
frequent  demands  for  the  so-called  "  business  man's  adminis- 
tration ".  It  was  entirely  natural  that  the  first  step  toward 
the  improvement  of  the  chaotic  conditions  of  the  city  some 
decades  ago  should  be  made  in  the  interest  of  business 
and  from  the  business  man's  point  of  view.  The  needs 
of  business  and  industry  for  efficient  city  government  are 
among  the  strongest  incentives  to  reform  and  doubtless  will 
always  remain  so.  It  was  natural,  furthermore,  to  think 
that  if  a  business  man  should  be  placed  at  the  head  of 
the  city's  affairs  and  should  be  allowed  to  introduce  the 
methods  that  had  worked  such  wonders  in  business  the  prob- 


420  THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  CITY 

lem  of  the  city  would  be  solved.  In  fact  we  have  in  the  ap- 
peal to  the  business  man  but  another  illustration  of  the  in- 
grained admiration  of  the  average  American  for  success,  for 
those  who  "  do  things,"  alluded  to  in  an  earlier  chapter.  The 
long  discipline  of  the  nation  gained  through  its  struggle  for 
mastery  over  the  forces  of  nature  and  the  glorification  of  the 
"  captain  of  industry  "  who  is  the  concrete  embodiment  of  this 
type  of  success  explain  the  readiness  of  Americans  to  apply 
the  utilitarian  and  factual  measure  of  values  to  the  problems 
of  the  city.  It  was  supposed  that  if  we  could  convince  the 
voter  of  the  business  advantages  of  cleaner  streets,  purer 
water,  better  car  service,  and  of  the  elimination  of  graft  and 
waste  in  municipal  affairs,  if,  in  other  words,  we  could  show 
him  that  these  are  "  paying  propositions,"  we  could  depend 
upon  his  casting  his  vote  in  the  right  way. 

Slowly,  however,  experience  is  convincing  us  that  some- 
thing more  inspiring  than  a  "  business  man's  administration  " 
is  needed  to  create  a  vigorous  civic  conscience.  Profitism  and 
public  spirit  somehow  do  not  seem  to  affiliate.  The  all  pow- 
erful desire  of  the  individual  for  gain  that  drives  the  machin- 
ery of  business  seems  to  fail  in  civic  matters.  It  is  doubtless 
true,  as  Mr.  Howe  points  out  in  the  case  of  Glasgow,  that 
thrift  and  civic  spirit  can  be  most  intimately  and  effectively 
associated.  It  is  a  mistake  to  imagine,  however,  that  a  vig- 
orous social  conscience  can  be  based  solely  or  mainly  upon 
the  more  or  less  selfish  appeal  of  business  interests.  Profitism 
is  being  steadily  discredited  as  an  incentive  in  American  life. 

It  may  be  said  of  course  that  the  failure  of  the  economic 
motive  as  a  driving  force  in  civic  affairs  is  not  due  so  much 
to  its  lack  of  lofty  moral  appeal  as  to  the  unwillingness  of  the 
hard-headed  business  man  to  invest  his  time  and  money  in 
ventures  that  do  not  lend  themselves  to  exact  control  and 
immediate  returns,  as  is  the  case  in  individual  business  enter- 
prises. It  is  doubtless  true  that  from  the  purely  utilitarian 
point  of  view  civic  interests  can  never  compete  with  individual 
or  corporate  interests.  "  Under  ordinary  circumstances,"  as 
Professor  Rowe  remarks,  "  the  citizen  will  not  hesitate  in  his 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  IDEAL  421 

choice  between  the  public  interest  and  private  advantage  if  a 
'  dollar  and  cents '  calculation  is  the  only  factor  determining 
his  conduct."  * 

The  fundamental  weakness,  however,  of  the  ideal  of  the 
"  business  man's  administration  "  is  found  in  its  false  psychol- 
ogy. All  the  elements  in  human  nature  are  not  exhausted 
by  Adam  Smith's  famous  "  economic  man."  Men  are  after 
all  something  more  than  highly  organized  instruments  for  the 
consumption  of  economic  goods.  It  still  remains  true,  after 
the  lapse  of  nearly  two  thousand  years,  and  in  spite  of  the 
rise  of  a  great  industrial  civilization,  that  "  The  life  is  more 
than  meat  and  the  body  than  raiment."  At  those  higher  levels 
of  human  interest,  to  which  the  economic  appeal  can  not  at- 
tain, men  are  moved  by  the  desire  for  freedom,  human 
brotherhood,  and  a  hopeful  outlook  upon  a  richer  and 
nobler  existence  in  the  years  to  come.  What  these  loftier 
and  more  ultimate  values  have  been  able  to  do  in  religion 
and  on  the  blood-soaked  battle-field  for  liberty  is  but  an 
earnest  of  future  civic  advances  towards  a  nobler  human 
order.  It  is  no  accident,  therefore,  that  philosophers,  saints 
and  seers  have  clothed  their  thought  in  civic  imagery.  They 
suggest  that  in  the  city  we  have  the  form  of  social  organi- 
zation offering  the  greatest  potentialities  for  human  advance- 
ment. As  a  nation  we  have  yet  to  discover  the  possibilities 
of  the  city  for  the  solution  of  the  eternal  social  problem. 
And  as  we  test  those  possibilities  it  is  well  to  remember 
John  Stuart  Mill's  dictum,  "  One  person  with  a  belief  is  a 
social  power  equal  to  ninety-nine  who  have  only  interests." 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

ARNDT:  W.  T. :  The  Emancipation  of  the  American  City,  1917;  BEARD, 
C.  A.:  American  City  Government,  1912:  BRUERE,  H.:  The  New  City 
Government,  1912;  DEMING,  H.  E. :  The  Government  of  American  Cities, 
1909 ;  GOODNOW,  F.  J. :  Municipal  Government,  1909 ;  HOWE,  F.  C. :  The 
City  the  Hope  of  Democracy,  1905 ;  The  Modern  City  and  Its  Prob- 
lems, 1915;  McBAiN,  H.  L. :  American  City  Progress  and  the  Law,  1918; 
ROWE,  L.  S. :  Problems  of  City  Government,  1908 ;  RYAN,  O. :  Municipal 
Freedom,  1915;  WILSON,  Lucius  E. :  Community  Leadership,  The  New 
Profession,  1919 ;  ZEUBLIN,  CHARLES  :  American  Municipal  Progress,  1902. 

1  Problems  of  City  Government,  p.  89. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN 
DEMOCRACY 

§  i.   THE  MORAL  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  STATE 

ANY  neglect  of  the  moral  significance  of  the  state  must  be 
disastrous  for  the  development  of  the  highest  type  of  charac- 
ter. For  character,  as  we  have  seen  in  an  earlier  chapter,  is 
the  result  of  the  organization  of  the  sentiments  and  emotions 
within  a  certain  institutional  setting.  Excellence  of  character 
in  every  case  will  depend  upon  the  definiteness  and  efficiency 
of  the  social  institutions  which  shape  it.  Political  obligation 
shaped  in  terms  of  some  vague  socialistic  conception  of  human 
brotherhood  or  of  international  economic  or  class  interests  is 
sure  to  reflect  the  moral  impotence  and  flabbiness  of  such  a 
setting.  Our  own  American  life  abounds  in  characters  of  the 
most  pronounced  type,  as  for  example  the  "  captain  of  indus- 
try." But  the  very  strength  of  such  characters  is  their  weak- 
ness. They  are  the  result  of  the  organization  of  thought  and 
life  in  terms  of  some  definite  and  more  or  less  limited  point  of 
view  where  too  often  corporate  interests  are  placed  above  na- 
tional interests. 

In  the  development  of  personality  the  homelier  and  more 
commonplace  virtues  of  honesty,  courage  or  temperance  are 
shaped  by  the  immediate  social  institutions  such  as  the  family, 
the  school,  the  club  or  business.  The  more  comprehensive 
ethical  norms  that  have  to  do  with  life  in  its  entirety,  such  as 
justice,  are  given  final  shape  by  the  most  comprehensive  forms 
of  society,  namely,  the  state  and  the  nation.  Where  the  state 
is  merely  a  term  for  a  collection  of  racial,  religious  or  economic 
groups,  or  where  it  is  synonymous  with  sentimental  traditions 
only,  as  has  been  true  of  America  to  some  extent,  we  may  ex- 
pect uncertainty  and  even  scepticism  as  to  the  nature  and 

422 


CONSTITUTION  AS  POLITICAL  SCHOOL  MASTER     423 

validity  of  our  higher  political  loyalties.  For  political  values, 
like  all  other  values,  are  true  and  real  just  to  the  extent  that 
they  spring  from  the  whole-hearted  upright  activities  of  men 
in  a  concrete  political  setting.  Americans  have  yet  to  learn 
the  moral  significance  of  the  state.  The  task  is  not  made 
easier  for  them  by  the  fact  that  those  who  occupy  represent- 
ative positions  in  our  political  life  are  too  often  anything  but 
excellent  moral  exemplars.  We  have  many  admirable  and 
talented  men  in  politics  and  yet  few  of  them  are  national  and 
disinterested  in  their  point  of  view. 

The  lack  of  a  serious  and  morally  sensitive  political  life 
is  a  handicap  to  any  government  but  especially  to  a  democ- 
racy. For  all  democracies  from  their  very  nature  and  purpose 
must  be  critically  frank  with  themselves  and  with  the  world, 
keenly  aware  of  their  national  aims  and  fearless  in  their  de- 
mands for  the  truth  and  the  open  mind.  Political  moral  sen- 
sitiveness, in  other  words,  is  indispensable  to  the  integrity  and 
sanity  of  a  democracy;  it  is  the  only  guarantee  of  progress. 
A  democracy  is  forced  to  risk  its  fate  upon  the  honesty  of 
human  nature  and  the  ability  of  the  rank  and  file  of  the  citi- 
zenship to  determine  their  own  political  destiny.  For  these 
reasons  a  virile  and  progressive  democracy  is  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected where  forces  have  been  at  work  which  discourage 
moral  sensitiveness  or  vitiate  the  disciplinary  effects  of  polit- 
ical experience.  Political  convictions  which  mean  anything 
to  us  are  the  outgrowth  of  our  political  way  of  life;  if  that 
way  of  life  does  not  provide  sane  and  intelligent  moral  train- 
ing the  political  conscience  will  be  inefficient.  The  fact  that 
proper  political  discipline  has  been  lacking  in  the  past  of  our 
national  life  may  throw  some  light  upon  our  moral  sluggish- 
ness in  righting  some  of  our  political  ills. 

§  2.   THE  CONSTITUTION  AS  POLITICAL  SCHOOL  MASTER 

The  environment  of  the  early  Americans  was  almost  en- 
tirely lacking  in  mature  and  tested  instrumentalities  for  the 
development  of  political  sentiment.  They  were  pioneers  and 
were  forced  to  create  in  the  wilderness  of  the  new  world  the 


424  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

material  basis  for  a  civilization.  They  brought  with  them, 
however,  the  traditions  of  a  mature  culture;  their  demands  for 
law  and  for  advanced  political  institutions  had  to  be  satisfied. 
Hence  the  founders  of  the  nation  took  over  the  traditions  of 
the  mother  country,  England,  especially  the  common  law  and 
the  achievements  of  the  Puritan  Revolution,  and  embodied 
them  in  bills  of  rights  and  in  state  and  federal  constitutions. 
The  result  was  that  the  American  people  was  from  the  very 
beginning  a  people  with  a  mature  political  philosophy  and  yet 
with  very  immature  social,  economic  and  political  institutions. 
The  great  conceptions  embodied  in  our  political  symbols  set 
a  goal  of  political  achievement  destined  to  remain  for  gen- 
erations far  ahead  of  the  actual  life  of  the  people;  contrast 
for  example  the  lofty  ideals  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  with  slavery  which  survived  the 
promulgation  of  these  instruments  of  liberty  for  over  half  a 
century. 

The  moral  advantage  of  placing  the  crude  and  largely  arti- 
ficial American  democracy  under  the  tutelage  of  the  Constitu- 
tion can  hardly  be  exaggerated.  The  early  Americans  were 
scattered  groups  differing  widely  in  racial,  religious  and  eco- 
nomic interests.  They  lacked  social  habits  and  mature  and 
tested  social  institutions  for  the  organizing  of  public  senti- 
ment; they  did  not  have  the  background  of  national  expe- 
riences and  policies  possessed  by  the  older  nations  of  Europe. 
It  was  almost  indispensable,  therefore,  that  their  varied  inter- 
ests should  have  a  central  rallying  point  until  the  material  foun- 
dations could  be  laid  for  civilization,  until  national  habits  of 
thought  and  common  traditions  could  be  formed,  and  the  basis 
secured  for  a  self-conscious  democracy.  It  should  not  be  for- 
gotten, however,  that  the  veneration  for  the  Constitution  and 
the  feeling  of  the  possession  of  a  document  which  uttered  the 
last  word  of  political  wisdom  tended  to  discourage  the  critical 
spirit  and  educated  the  masses  of  Americans  into  careless  in- 
difference or  good  natured  optimism  on  all  national  issues. 
This  mental  attitude  was  not  conducive  to  the  training  of  the 
highest  and  most  efficient  type  of  self-conscious  democracy. 


CONSTITUTION  AS  POLITICAL  SCHOOL  MASTER     425 

There  was,  however,  no  alternative.  The  founders  of  the 
American  republic,  having  still  in  mind  the  struggles  of  seven- 
teenth century  England  with  despotism,  feared  absolute  power 
in  any  form  because  they  identified  supreme  power  with  brute 
force;  they  did  not  distinguish  between  the  possession  of  su- 
preme political  power  and  the  way  in  which  that  power  is  exer- 
cised. To  be  sure,  they  were  determined  to  assert  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  people;  "  The  people  alone  have  an  incontestable, 
inalienable  and  indefeasible  right  to  institute  government,  and 
to  reform,  alter  or  totally  change  the  same  when  their  protec- 
tion, safety,  prosperity  and  happiness  require  it."  But  to  sub- 
ject the  young  democracy  to  the  absolute  control  of  the  popular 
will  seemed  to  create  a  new  despotism  in  the  place  of  the  old. 
This  presented  unpleasant  alternatives.  To  follow  out  the 
implications  of  democracy  and  make  the  will  of  the  people 
supreme  was  to  put  a  new  tyrant  in  the  place  of  the  old;  to 
accept  any  other  sovereignty  than  that  of  the  people  would 
defeat  the  spirit  and  intent  of  democracy. 

A  way  out  of  the  dilemma  was  suggested  by  the  doctrine 
of  natural  rights  expounded  by  Locke  and  thoroughly  familiar 
to  the  thinkers  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries. 
Starting  with  this  doctrine  the  founders  of  American  democ- 
racy reasoned  thus:  if  the  inalienable  and  unalterable  rights 
of  the  individual  could  be  outlined  in  a  code  and  this  code  made 
superior  to  the  will  of  the  people,  the  principle  of  social  right- 
eousness upon  which  alone  a  democracy  is  founded  would  be 
conserved  and  at  the  same  time  protection  would  be  provided 
against  the  abuse  of  absolute  power  by  the  popular  will.  The 
prevailing  political  philosophy  which  vested  the  eternal  prin- 
ciples of  political  justice  in  a  transcendental  order  of  nature 
and  reason  prevented  the  framers  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
bills  of  rights  from  perceiving  that  they  were  in  reality  merely 
taking  over  and  adapting  to  their  own  particular  problems  the 
rights  already  formulated  by  Englishmen  in  their  struggle 
for  freedom.  We  have,  therefore,  this  rather  paradoxical  situ- 
ation that  the  fathers  of  the  republic,  while  insisting  at  least 
theoretically  upon  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  were  in  reality 


426  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

distrustful  of  the  people.  Hence  they  made  king  Lex  to  be 
the  ruler  over  king  Demos,  whom  they  feared.  This  they 
justified  under  the  eighteenth  century  doctrine  that  the  rule 
of  law  was  superior  to  the  rule  of  irresponsible  and  dimly  self- 
conscious  Demos  because  law  may  be  made  to  express  the 
eternal  and  indefeasible  principles  of  justice  and  the  rights  of 
the  individual.  The  fathers  formulated  a  code  and  then  ab- 
dicated their  power  as  a  sovereign  people  to  this  creature  of 
their  own  hands  with  the  sublime  assurance  that  only  in  this 
way  could  their  national  calling  and  election  be  made  sure. 
Like  the  ancient  Hebrews  bowing  before  the  golden  image 
their  own  hands  had  made,  they  cried,  "  These  be  thy  gods,  O 
Israel,  that  brought  thee  up  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt  and 
the  house  of  bondage." 

Paradoxical  as  it  may  sound,  this  undemocratic  subordin- 
ation of  democracy  to  law  was  in  the  interest  of  democracy 
in  the  long  run.  The  Constitution  became  the  political  school- 
master to  lead  the  masses  to  the  far-off  goal  of  an  efficient  and 
self-conscious  democracy.  "  The  Constitution,"  writes  Presi- 
dent Lowell,  "  was  to  us  what  a  king  has  often  been  to  other 
nations.  It  was  the  symbol  and  pledge  of  our  national  exis- 
tence and  the  only  object  on  which  the  people  could  expend 
their  new-born  loyalty."  It  provided  a  body  of  noble  political 
ideals  which,  though  far  from  being  organically  related  with 
the  daily  thought  and  life  of  the  average  American,  served  as 
a  spiritual  and  moral  leaven  in  the  life  of  the  nation.  Even 
the  curse  of  slavery  was  not  powerful  enough  to  make  the 
nation  forget  its  spiritual  birthright. 

§  3.   THE  RISE  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY 

The  subordination  of  the  will  of  the  people  to  a  body  of 
law  was  not  altogether  favorable  to  the  development  of  an  in- 
telligent and  self-sufficent  democratic  loyalty.  Its  immediate 
effect  was  to  encourage  a  legalistic  political  conscience.  As 
the  inevitable  process  of  social  evolution  went  forward,  new 
issues  and  new  demands  for  social  adjustment  arose.  There 
was  need  constantly  for  some  sort  of  interpretation  and  appli- 


THE  RISE  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY  427 

cation  of  the  principles  of  the  Constitution  to  these  issues. 
The  integrity  of  the  local  democracies  as  well  as  of  the 
nation  as  a  whole  was  in  danger  of  being  shipwrecked  upon 
the  ever  recurring  necessity  for  readjustment.  It  was  felt 
that  there  was  political  wisdom  enough  in  the  Constitution.  It 
was  merely  a  question  of  interpretation  and  exposition;  this 
of  course  became  the  task  of  the  courts.  In  this  wise  it  came 
to  pass  that  government  in  its  last  analysis  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  lawyers  and  judges  of  the  courts.  For  it  was  only 
necessary  to  show  that  any  legislative  or  administrative  act 
violated  the  principles  of  right  set  forth  in  the  Constitu- 
tion to  make  this  act  null  and  void  even  though  it  enjoyed 
the  hearty  endorsement  of  the  people.  This  was  practically 
equivalent  to  making  the  courts  the  keepers  of  the  conscience 
of  Demos.  The  arguments  of  lawyers  and  the  decisions  of 
judges  have  indeed  played  a  part  in  the  life  of  the  American 
people  that  is  without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  free  peoples. 
A  recent  writer  thus  describes  the  role  of  the  Supreme  Court 
in  American  democracy.  "  These  philosophical  jurists  were 
actually  possessed  of  an  unique  power  which  might  have 
aroused  the  envy  and  admiration  of  the  philosophical  dogma- 
tists of  all  ages — the  power  of  making  a  real  world  conform 
without  protest  to  their  own  ideas  of  what  a  world  ought  to 
be.  They  uttered  words  based  upon  a  free  rational  interpre- 
tation of  other  words,  and  lo!  men  bowed  their  heads  and 
submitted."  1 

After  all  has  been  said  in  favor  of  the  wisdom  and  the  sta- 
bility of  a  law-made  democracy  and  the  benevolent  disci- 
plinary regime  that  it  provided  for  the  immature  political  con- 
sciousness of  the  American  nation,  the  question  may  still  be 
asked  as  to  whether  it  can  ever  give  us  the  last  word  as  to 
the  meaning  of  democracy.  Is  the  benevolent  absolutism  of 
law  superior  to  the  intelligent  and  self-directive  will  of  the 
people?  Is  not  the  danger  present  that  the  conceptions  of 
social  justice  ever  taking  shape  in  the  social  conscience  may 
come  to  differ  fundamentally  from  those  embodied  in  a  fixed 

iCroly,  Progressive  Democracy,  p.  142. 


428  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

code?  The  situation  is  further  complicated  by  the  fact  that 
justice  has  become  less  an  individual  and  more  a  social  matter. 
The  problem  of  justice  is  now  not  so  much  to  assure  to  the 
individual  the  enjoyment  of  certain  inalienable  and  indefeasible 
rights  possessed  independent  of  the  social  order  in  which  he 
lives  as  it  is  a  question  of  securing  to  each  and  all  fit  institu- 
tions that  make  it  possible  to  live  the  just  life  and  to  achieve 
the  largest  measure  of  individual  development. 

The  moral  ideal,  so  far  as  the  political  order  is  concerned, 
is  not  attained  when  we  remove  all  possible  restrictions  from 
the  individual  so  that  he  may  freely  and  successfully  put  into 
execution  abstract  rights  he  possesses  by  virtue  of  member- 
ship in  an  indefectible  order  of  reason  and  of  nature.  We 
now  realize  from  our  psychological  knowledge  of  the  develop- 
ing self  in  society  that  the  moral  ideal  is  something  to  be 
achieved.  We  become  moral  and  responsible  by  living  our- 
selves into  the  social  order.  The  state  itself  is  a  moral  ideal. 
It  lies  to  a  large  extent  in  the  realm  of  moral  possibilities. 
Each  individual  co-operates  in  the  making  of  the  political 
ideal  actual  in  life.  Political  righteousness  is  something  that 
is  achieved  through  the  intelligent  and  harmonious  co-opera- 
tion of  human  wills  in  the  effort  to  realize  a  political  program. 
Political  integrity  is  ultimately  a  matter  of  the  social  worth 
of  the  acts  and  sentiments  of  the  individual  men  and  women 
as  expressed  on  political  issues.  There  is  never  at  any  one 
time  any  more  righteousness  in  the  community  than  there  are 
men  and  women  with  mental  attitudes  or  habits  of  will  that 
make  for  social  justice.  The  moral  integrity  of  the  state  can 
never  transcend  the  moral  integrity  of  the  rank  and  file  of 
its  citizenship.  Laws,  bills  of  rights  or  constitutions  are  at 
best  merely  programs,  possible  ways  along  which  character 
may  develop,  ideal  lines  of  political  action  which,  however, 
wait  upon  concrete  striving  human  wills  to  give  them  reality. 

The  legalistic  political  conscience  that  has  grown  up  under 
the  tutelage  of  our  great  political  symbols  and  their  eighteenth 
century  philosophy  owes  its  authority  to  the  fact  that  the 
masses  of  men  acquiesce  in  the  finality  of  these  symbols.  This 


CRITICISMS  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY         429 

habit  of  acquiescence,  of  dependence  upon  the  verdicts  of  the 
courts  and  the  arguments  of  the  lawyers,  may  dull  the  edge 
of  the  political  conscience  of  the  community.  It  may  fail 
to  encourage  a  sense  of  responsibility  or  habits  of  criticism, 
of  inquiry  and  of  frank  discussion  without  which  efficient 
democracy  is  impossible.  The  solutions  of  living  issues  of 
social  justice  cannot  remain  always  a  matter  of  the  technical 
pronouncements  of  judges  who  draw  their  conclusions,  though 
ever  so  conscientiously,  from  a  limited  fund  of  political  wis- 
dom in  a  fixed  body  of  law.  This  is  injurious  to  a  progressive 
democracy  in  two  particulars.  The  moral  discipline  gained 
by  thinking  through  the  great  issues  of  national  life  is  there- 
by lost  because  this  task  is  relegated  to  a  body  of  legal  experts. 
Their  decisions,  consequently,  do  not  appeal  to  the  masses 
of  men  as  would  popular  thought-out  conclusions,  that  are 
felt  to  be  in  close  relation  to  life.  This  lack  of  political  dis- 
cipline doubtless  explains  our  national  trait  characterized  by 
Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  as  "  state  blindness."  Under  a  law-made 
democracy  the  element  of  authority,  which  is  most  important 
in  its  place,  tends  to  overshadow  political  self-assertion  and 
its  accompaniment,  the  sense  of  responsibility.  The  problem 
of  the  future  is  to  restore  between  the  two  elements  of 
authority  and  freedom  the  healthful  balance  that  has  been 
disturbed  by  the  long  rule  of  a  law-made  democracy. 

§  4.    CRITICISMS  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY 

Much  of  the  prevailing  confusion  as  to  the  meaning  of 
democracy  with  its  unsettling  effect  upon  our  notion  of  po- 
litical obligation  is  due  to  a  conflict  between  this  old  legalistic 
conception  and  a  more  recent  and  vaguely  defined  notion  of  a 
socialized  democracy.  It  may  be  well,  therefore,  to  state  and 
criticize  the  case  for  law-made  democracy. 

An  able  exponent  of  the  legalistic  idea  of  political  ob- 
ligation thus  voices  his  protest  against  the  prevailing  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  nature  of  political  loyalties.  "  It  is  peculiarly 
unfortunate  at  a  time  like  the  present,  when  the  acceptance  of 
just  principles  is  vastly  important,  not  only  to  the  peace  and 


430  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

order  of  our  country,  but  to  the  union  of  all  nations  upon  some 
common  ground,  that  new  conflict  regarding  the  fundamental 
principles  of  justice  should  arise,  that  the  authority  of  the 
courts  and  the  value  of  the  judicial  system  should  be  called 
in  question,  and  that  the  whole  conception  of  social  relations 
should  be  thrown  into  the  melting  pot;  for  it  has  been  thought 
by  many,  and  has  been  hoped  by  a  still  greater  number,  that 
the  American  conception  of  the  state,  yielding  authority  to 
great  principles  of  equity  and  to  the  rule  of  just  and  equal 
laws,  might  afford  a  basis  for  the  reorganization  of  the  family 
of  nations,  now  torn  by  so  many  dissensions,  and  plunged  into 
a  maelstrom  of  deadly  conflict."  1  Dr.  Hill  finds  the  essence 
of  this  new  spirit  of  unrest  in  the  disposition  to  annul  the 
original  act  of  popular  renunciation,  that  is,  to  challenge  "  the 
voluntary  self-limitation  of  power  "  which  for  him  is  the  very 
essence  of  American  democracy.  This  writer  feels  that  once 
we  let  the  increasingly  self-assertive  modern  democratic  spirit 
break  away  from  its  time-honored  anchor  in  an  indefectible 
body  of  law,  it  will  have  neither  the  virtue,  the  courage,  nor 
the  efficiency  to  preserve  its  own  integrity  in  the  stern  struggle 
for  existence. 

The  champion  of  the  modern  socialized  democracy  would 
doubtless  agree  with  the  scholarly  author  when  he  asserts, 
"  It  is  only  as  men  are  able  and  willing  to  adopt  fundamental 
principles  of  justice,  of  equity,  of  moderation,  and  of  self- 
restraint,  to  abide  by  them,  to  reverence  them,  to  love  them, 
and  to  be  prepared  if  necessary  to  die  for  them,  that  any  light 
falls  upon  our  shadowed  pathway."  It  is  doubtful,  however, 
whether  we  can  ascribe  the  present  uncertainty  to  the  alleged 
unwillingness  of  men  to  accept  principles  of  equity  and  self- 
restraint.  The  problem  lies  much  deeper.  Men  are  eagerly, 
even  anxiously,  inquiring  what  is  justice  and  what  is  equity  be- 
tween man  and  man.  Their  hesitation  arises  from  the  fact 
that  fundamental  social  changes  have  altered  their  estimates 
of  what  was  once  accepted  as  final  and  right.  They  are  seek- 
ing a  revaluation  of  values.  It  is  an  unjust  reflection  upon 

1  David  Jayne  Hill,  Americanism:   What  is  iff,  pp.  38,  39. 


CRITICISMS  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY          431 

the  seriousness  and  integrity  of  the  present  generation  to  im- 
ply that  the  root  of  the  evil  is  found  in  lack  of  moral  earnest- 
ness or  unwillingness  to  support  the  cause  of  the  right.  The 
distraught  modern  man  who  gives  any  thought  whatever  to 
these  questions  will  doubtless  reply  to  such  criticism,  "  Show 
me  the  way  of  truth  and  righteousness  and  gladly  will  I  walk 
therein." 

Mr.  Hill  lays  down  a  fundamental  principle  of  democracy 
when  he  says,  "  Where  there  is  no  sense  of  personal  duty,  no 
acceptance  of  universally  obligatory  ethical  principles  which 
majorities  as  well  as  minorities  must  obey,  there  is  no  ground 
of  permanence  in  a  democratic  form  of  government."  It  is 
not  a  question,  however,  of  universal  ethical  principles  which 
majorities  as  well  as  minorities  must  obey.  It  is  ultimately  a 
question  as  to  the  nature  and  the  sanctions  of  those  principles. 
For  the  champion  of  legalistic  democracy,  political  sanctions 
are  vested  in  a  body  of  eternal  principles  that  lie  beyond  the 
changing  experiences  of  men,  that  belong  to  the  "  nature  of 
things"  (the  phrase  is  Dr.  Hill's).  These  principles  have 
been  most  clearly  formulated,  we  are  told,  in  the  bills  of  rights 
and  the  Constitution.  They  should  be  obeyed  simply  because 
they  are  final,  indefeasible  and  can  not  be  affected  by  the 
changing  political  experience  of  men.  They  occupy  very  much 
the  same  position  in  the  political  sphere  that  Kant  attributed 
to  his  categorical  imperative  in  the  sphere  of  morals.  They 
reflect  an  eternal  and  indefectible  order  of  things. 

To  this  it  may  be  replied  that  laws  are  but  the  rational- 
izations of  the  experience  of  men.  They  depend,  therefore, 
upon  the  growth  of  experience  for  their  material;  they  must 
constantly  be  referred  back  to  this  experience  for  the  test  of 
their  validity.  Constitutions  and  bills  of  rights  are  "  obliga- 
tory "  only  in  so  far  as  they  formulate  those  norms  of  action 
which  best  enable  men  to  adjust  their  differences  and  preserve 
a  social  order  in  which  men  and  women  can  live  together  with 
the  least  friction  and  the  richest  unfolding  of  human  values. 
The  legalist  rests  the  binding  character  of  the  law  upon  the 
inherent  moral  and  political  merit  it  possesses  independent  of 


432  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

what  men  think  or  do.  He  asserts  that  the  law  can  not  be 
invalidated  by  the  altered  opinions  of  men  or  by  changes 
of  an  economic,  social  or  political  nature.  The  progressive 
answers  that  the  ultimate  sanction  of  the  law  is  based  upon  a 
loyal  acceptance  of  its  mandates  due  to  a  reasoned  and  in- 
telligent appreciation  of  the  principles  upon  which  it  is  based. 
For  the  legalist  the  law  is  binding  because  it  expresses  eternal 
and  transcendent  right;  for  the  progressive,  the  law  is  binding 
because  it  expresses  the  tested  moral  convictions  of  the  masses 
of  intelligent  men  and  women.  When  the  law  no  longer  meets 
with  the  approval  of  men  it  is  at  that  very  moment  invalidated 
in  spirit,  if  not  in  fact.  The  progressive  contends  that  it  is 
psychologically  absurd  to  expect  rational  and  moral  creatures 
to  order  their  lives  according  to  principles  which  reason  and 
conscience  do  not  sanction;  the  legalist  contends  that  without 
an  ultimate  political  sanction  independent  of  the  fluctuations 
of  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  erring  mankind  all  guarantees 
of  rights  and  liberties  are  futile. 

The  real  issue  as  between  these  two  points  of  view  depends 
upon  the  interpretation  placed  upon  reason  to  which  both  ap- 
peal. Reason  does  not  necessarily  mean  the  will  of  the  im- 
mediate and  transient  majority,  the  vociferous  and  more  or 
less  irrational  vox  populi  as  it  finds  expression  in  a  political 
campaign.  Reason  may  also  be  identified  with  the  mature 
and  tested  experience  of  men  stretching  over  years  and  even 
generations  and  embodied  in  their  laws.  If  we  magnify  the 
latter  notion  of  reason  sufficiently  we  shall  soon  reach  the 
transcendental  realm  of  political  verities  in  which  the  thought 
of  the  legalist  moves  and  we  shall  be  talking  of  "  inalienable 
rights,"  "  a  body  of  unalterable  principles,"  and  the  like,  that 
persist  with  unchallenged  authoritativeness  from  age  to  age. 

It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  mistake  of  the  legalist  is  due 
to  his  over-emphasis  of  a  phase  of  the  truth.  Law  must,  for 
the  sake  of  the  continuity  and  preservation  of  the  body  politic, 
embody  principles  more  comprehensive  and  binding  than  the 
immediate  dictates  of  the  will  of  the  majority.  This  explains 
the  feeling  that  justice  and  equity  transcend  the  individual,  the 


CRITICISMS  OF  LAW-MADE  DEMOCRACY         433 

community  or  the  experience  of  one  generation  no  matter  how 
enlightened  that  generation  may  be.  On  the  other  hand,  these 
principles  of  right  owe  their  claim  upon  the  loyalty  of  the 
individual,  the  group  or  the  generation,  not  to  the  sheer 
fact  of  their  universality  but  to  the  fact  of  an  intelligent  appre- 
ciation of  their  vital  connection  with  the  problems  of  the 
present.  Where  this  appreciation  is  lacking  obedience  to  the 
law,  if  it  is  secured  at  all,  must  from  the  nature  of  the  case  be 
mechanical;  it  can  not  be  conducive  to  a  self-conscious  democ- 
racy. There  is  indeed  a  very  real  sense  in  which  the  moral 
ideas  of  the  individual  and  the  community  will  always  be  supe- 
rior to  the  law.  Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth.  This  is 
true  of  laws  as  well  as  of  morals.  When,  therefore,  after  any 
length  of  time  the  moral  sense  of  men  repudiates  a  law  the 
question  may  well  be  raised  as  to  whether  the  law  has  not  out- 
lived its  usefulness.  The  moral  values  underlying  a  law  are 
seldom  invalidated  through  logic  or  metaphysical  analysis; 
they  die  through  disuse.  When  the  need  for  the  ways  of  acting 
provided  for  in  a  law  has  disappeared,  the  law  is  worse  than 
useless  for  it  merely  beclouds  the  moral  and  political 
horizon. 

It  is  obvious  from  the  foregoing  that  legalist  and  progres- 
sive differ  as  to  the  nature  of  political  sovereignty.  The 
legalist  insists  that  the  people  have  magnanimously  and  wisely 
abrogated  their  sovereignty  in  favor  of  a  written  Constitution, 
which  contains  those  ultimate  principles  which  must  find  ex- 
pression in  true  democracy.  In  the  interest  of  freedom  and 
of  justice  we  must  accept  implicitly  the  authority  of  this  body 
of  law.  The  exponent  of  a  socialized  democracy,  guided  by 
the  principle  of  evolution  that  has  slowly  permeated  all  modern 
thought,  insists  that  government  and  law  are  a  growth  and 
spring  from  the  life  of  the  people.  They  can  not,  therefore, 
be  made  absolutely  superior  to  the  living  experience  that  gave 
them  birth.  Their  claim  upon  the  loyalty  of  the  people  extends 
just  as  far  as  they  serve  the  needs  of  the  people.  No  body  of 
laws  can  possibly  be  the  last  word  of  political  wisdom  since 
they  are  the  result  of  a  social  process  which  is  itself  constantly 


434  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

accumulating  new  facts  and  demanding  new  interpretations  of 
these  facts. 

It  may  be  pointed  out,  furthermore,  that  the  legalist's  con- 
tention as  to  the  absolute  character  of  political  obligation  in 
American  democracy  involves  a  contradiction.  He  concedes 
the  people  exercised  an  inalienable  right  when  they  framed 
the  Constitution,  but  at  the  same  time  they  embodied  in  that 
document  inalienable  rights  belonging  to  every  individual 
independent  of  all  government.  It  is  quite  possible,  then,  that 
in  exercising  their  inalienable  right  to  form  a  government 
a  free  people  may  violate  individual  inalienable  rights 
existing  independent  of  government.  We  should  have,  there- 
fore, the  absurd  situation  where  two  inalienable  rights  con- 
tradict each  other.  Furthermore,  since  from  the  days  of 
Locke  it  was  commonly  taught  and  believed  that  men  had  a 
right  to  revolt  in  the  interest  of  these  inalienable  individual 
rights  when  they  were  threatened  by  unjust  government,  we 
have  the  still  further  absurd  situation  that  men  must  fall  back 
upon  anarchy,  or  the  repudiation  of  all  government,  in  the 
defense  of  rights  that  are  supposed  to  lie  at  the  basis  of  all 
government. 

Underlying  the  two  conceptions  of  political  obligation  just 
sketched  there  are  in  reality  two  different  philosophies  of 
society  and  of  the  state.  The  one  we  may  call  the  Newtonian, 
the  other  the  Darwinian.  It  is  a  fact  familiar  to  every  stu- 
dent of  social  phenomena  that  the  speculative  thought  in 
every  age  tends  to  take  on  characteristic  features  of  the 
Zeitgeist  of  that  age.  It  is  quite  possible  to  trace  in  the 
theological  doctrines  of  the  various  creeds  the  pressure  of 
ideas  cherished  in  the  society  of  the  time.  The  summa  of 
Aquinas,  the  Ethics  of  Spinoza,  the  Contrdt  Social  of  Rous- 
seau, the  political  philosophy  of  Hegel  or  of  Montesquieu 
faithfully  reflects  the  dominant  ideas  of  the  time.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  the  organic  law  of  the  United  States  was 
framed  under  the  influence  of  the  Newtonian  theory  so  influ- 
ential during  the  eighteenth  century.  The  "  checks  and  bal- 
ances "  between  the  various  arms  of  the  government  correspond 


THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  THE  FUTURE  435 

to  the  stars  balanced  against  each  other  in  the  solar  system; 
the  president  is  a  sort  of  central  sun;  the  supreme  and 
inflexible  law  of  gravity  that  knits  the  suns  and  systems 
together  corresponds  to  the  indefeasible  and  inalienable 
natural  rights  that  underlie  all  laws  and  constitutions.1 

Directly  opposed  to  this  mechanical  and  static  conception 
of  the  state  we  have  the  Darwinian  theory  that  the  state  is 
a  living  thing.  The  norms  of  political  obligation  are  not  to 
be  interpreted  after  the  analogy  of  the  mechanical  universe 
of  the  stars  but  rather  after  the  analogy  of  living  and  growing 
organisms.  In  the  organism  there  is  nothing  to  suggest 
"checks  and  balances."  The  significance  of  each  part  is 
determined  with  reference  to  the  function  it  plays  as  a  member 
of  a  living  whole.  The  oneness  of  life  that  animates  the 
organism  is  not  derived  from  some  source  outside  itself.  The 
very  essence  of  the  life  of  the  organism  emerges  in  its  unity 
and  purposefulness,  in  the  cooperation  of  the  function  of  each 
member  with  that  of  the  other  for  the  preservation  of  the  life 
of  the  whole.  The  norms  that  regulate  the  health  of  the 
organism  as  a  whole  likewise  determine  the  functions  of  the 
individual  members.  It  is  this  dynamic  conception  that 
inspires  social  democracy. 

§  5.   THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  THE  FUTURE 

The  conclusions  reached  above  suggest  that  we  are  enter- 
ing upon  a  new  phase  in  the  evolution  of  American  democ- 
racy. The  ultimate  bond  of  the  democracy  of  the  future 
can  not  be  eternal  principles  of  right  embodied  in  a  code 
of  laws;  it  can  not  be  the  selfish  ties  of  business;  it  can 
not  be  the  coercive  force  of  government  and  police  control. 
The  only  enduring  basis  upon  which  a  free  people  can  rest 
their  political  loyalties  is  the  conscious  and  reasoned  convic- 
tions of  the  average  man.  The  democracy  of  the  future  must 
be  more  than  a  body  of  laws,  more  than  a  social  or  political 
program;  it  must  be  also  a  faith,  a  loyalty.  For,  after  all, 
the  creative  and  forward  looking  elements  in  human  life  are 

1  Wilson,  The  New  Freedom,  pp.  45  ff. 


436  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

our  faiths.  Faith  is  not  only  the  "  substance  of  things  hoped 
for."  It  not  only  sketches  the  outlines  of  the  masterpiece  that 
is  one  day  to  be  filled  in  with  line  and  color.  Faith  is  also 
creative,  even  militant.  "  This  is  the  victory  that  overcomes 
the  world,  even  your  faith  "  holds  equally  true  for  the  political 
and  the  religious  life. 

To  state  the  problem  in  psychological  terms,  we  must 
secure  in  some  fashion  an  effective  organization  of  the  senti- 
ments of  the  average  man  around  those  comprehensive  political 
and  moral  values  lying  at  the  core  of  the  democratic  ideal. 
This  is  indeed  a  collossal  task.  It  means  that  we  must  rely 
upon  ultimate  spiritual  and  moral  loyalties  rather  than  upon 
the  immediate  and  tangible  political  forms.  We  must  seek 
to  induce  men  to  act,  not  in  terms  of  the  insistent  and  powerful 
egoistic  impulses  or  the  hard  logic  of  legal  precedent,  but 
rather  in  terms  of  the  "still  small  voice"  of  conscience,  the 
more  or  less  pale  abstractions  of  truth,  justice,  and  human 
welfare.  The  issue,  however,  is  one  that  we  may  not  escape. 
For  modern  democracy  is  becoming  less  a  matter  of  personal 
rights,  less  a  matter  of  party  programs,  less  a  matter  of  legal 
traditions,  and  more  a  state  of  mind,  a  feeling  of  community  of 
interests  based  upon  common  ideals.  This  is  inevitable  from 
the  structure  of  modern  society  itself  with  its  increasing 
mutualization  and  socialization.  The  links  that  bind  men 
together  can  no  longer  be  seen  and  handled;  they  can  be  de- 
tected only  by  the  mind's  eye.  It  is  the  unseen  things  that 
are  worth-while.  Democracy  must  conform  to  the  new  social 
order  or  it  must  be  content  to  live  a  precarious  existence  with 
no  real  place  in  the  hearts  and  lives  of  men.  The  problem 
is  in  reality  one  of  political  self-preservation. 

Faith  becomes  real  only  in  action.  The  democracy  of 
the  future,  therefore,  must  learn  through  doing.  The  life 
of  nations  is  not  essentially  different  from  that  of  individuals 
and  consists  for  the  most  part  in  endless  attempts  to 
solve  problems.  We  do  not  know  what  the  problems  them- 
selves actually  involve  and  consequently  are  far  from  devising 
a  solution  when  we  first  face  them.  The  solutions  grow  out 


THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  THE  FUTURE  437 

of  the  process  of  living  ourselves  into  the  situation;  we  are 
thereby  enabled  to  find  our  bearings  and  define  our  duties. 
The  real  implications  of  democracy,  therefore,  can  never  be 
understood  until  we  have  tried  to  make  it  real  in  action. 
Much  of  the  prevailing  laxity  as  to  political  obligations  arises 
from  the  fact  that  we  have  lacked  the  whole-hearted  confi- 
dence in  democracy  which  would  enable  us  to  give  it  a 
thorough  trial.  We  can  not  wait  simply  to  be  informed 
what  democracy  is;  it  avails  us  naught  to  have  democracy 
skilfully  deduced  from  venerated  legal  formulas  by  legal 
specialists.  The  Greeks  long  ago  demonstrated  the  inability 
of  pure  thought  to  redeem  the  spirit  of  man.  We  can  not  pry 
ourselves  loose  from  the  wicked  world  and  lift  ourselves  bodily 
into  the  kingdom  by  means  of  logical  syllogisms.  To  prove 
that  a  given  program  is  good  and  wise  and  self-consistent  and 
ought  to  be  followed  is  not  sufficient.  It  is  not  after  this  wise 
that  men  attain  salvation.  It  is  only  through  the  actual  living 
out  of  the  program,  or  better  still,  through  the  enlightening 
effect  of  sympathetic  cooperation  with  our  fellows  in  the 
attempt  to  make  democracy  real  among  men  that  we  can  ever 
hope  to  find  out  what  democracy  means  and  gain  the  strength 
of  conviction  for  making  it  real. 

Legal  tradition  and  political  representation  will  always 
play  their  part  hi  the  attainment  of  a  self-conscious  and  effi- 
cient democracy  but  they  can  not  be  identified  with  the 
essence  of  democracy.  For  underlying  both  representative 
and  legalistic  conceptions  of  democracy  is  the  idea  that 
there  is  in  a  body  of  authoritative  and  indefeasible  rights  or 
in  the  mind  of  society  an  inexhaustible  source  of  wisdom 
and  that  the  function  of  government  is  simply  to  extract  this 
wisdom  and  make  it  articulate  and  serviceable  for  the  masses 
of  men.  The  difficulty  is  that  in  a  rapidly  developing  social 
order  such  as  that  in  which  we  live  such  a  body  of  fixed  and 
adequate  political  norms  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist.  There 
ane,  to  be  sure,  certain  set  ideas,  certain  stable  organizations 
of  sentiments  that  arise  out  of  the  necessity  for  certain  fixed 
ways  of  acting  demanded  by  society.  The  average  man  pays 


438  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

his  debts,  is  properly  incensed  at  brutal  crimes,  condemns  graft 
and  dishonesty,  approves  acts  of  heroism,  supports  his  country 
loyally  in  a  crisis  such  as  the  recent  war.  But  these  socially 
valuable  and  hence  relatively  fixed  political  and  ethical  norms 
can  not  be  utilized  to  any  very  great  extent  when  some  larger 
issue  arises,  involving  new  and  complex  matters  of  social  jus- 
tice. Here  we  must  have  in  fact  a  new  organization  of  ideas 
and  sentiments  to  fit  this  new  situation.  Instead  of  trying  to 
extract  from  the  average  citizen  the  requisite  political  wisdom 
stored  away  somewhere  in  his  mind  we  must  assist  him  in  the 
process  of  making  up  his  mind  anew  and  devoting  himself  to 
the  solution  of  the  new  problem.  Perhaps  this  was  in  mind 
when  it  was  remarked,  that  "  Legalism  and  purely  representa- 
tive government  are  unsuited  to  the  needs  of  a  thorough- 
going democracy,  because  their  method  of  organization 
depends  upon  popular  obedience  rather  than  popular  edu- 
cation "/ 

It  will  be  objected  at  once  that  this  is  equivalent  to 
making  of  democracy  a  huge  experiment.  Political  obligation 
is  placed  at  the  mercy  of  ethical  relativism.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  to  a  certain  extent  the  criticism  is  just.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  see  how  we  are  to  separate  the  idea  of  risk  from 
responsibility  or  the  idea  of  relativity  from  growth.  The  ele- 
ment of  contingency  is  always  present  in  a  genuine  moral  issue. 
The  moral  quality  of  an  act  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  risk  of 
the  outcome  rests  with  the  agent.  Risk  is,  therefore,  insep- 
arable from  any  situation  that  brings  moral  discipline  and 
growth.  In  fact  we  have  already  suggested  that  the  moral 
impotence  of  the  average  man  in  matters  dealing  with  the 
larger  social  and  national  interests  is  due  exactly  to  the  lack 
of  a  constraining  sense  of  responsibility.  The  average 
American  has  no  vivid  sense  of  political  obligation  because 
he  has  not  been  made  to  feel  that  the  future  of  democ- 
racy and  the  future  of  his  own  personal  interests  are  insep- 
arable. Quite  the  contrary,  owing  to  the  disciplinary  effect 
of  a  law-made  democracy,  he  often  acts  as  though  he  believed 

1  Croly,   Progressive  Democracy,  p.   278. 


THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  THE  FUTURE  439 

that  his  own  interests  can  be  best  served  at  times  by  ignoring 
political  duties. 

If  we  may  draw  any  general  conclusion  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  democracy  of  the  future  from  the  foregoing  discussion  it 
is  this,  that  we  must  cease  to  look  upon  democracy  as  some- 
thing negative  or  as  a  body  of  rights  to  be  safeguarded  rather 
than  utilized.  The  modern  functional  and  evolutionary  point 
of  view  has  taught  us  that  the  state  is  essentially  a  dynamic 
rather  than  a  static  entity.  It  becomes  a  reality  and  achieves 
for  itself  a  place  on  the  page  of  history  by  virtue  of  what  it 
does  rather  than  by  virtue  of  what  it  is.  Just  as  the  reality 
of  individual  moral  character  is  the  result  of  the  individual's 
own  achievement,  so  the  moral  integrity  of  the  state  must  be 
achieved,  not  inherited.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  a  self- 
conscious  democracy,  that  is,  a  democracy  that  clearly  grasps 
its  ends,  that  conscientiously  sets  about  the  task  of  realizing 
these  ends,  that  reserves  for  itself  the  right  to  change  its  mind 
or  modify  its  laws  where  the  better  attainment  of  these  ends 
makes  this  necessary,  that  insists,  finally,  upon  being  solely 
responsible  for  any  jeopardizing  of  national  integrity  which 
this  change  of  mind  may  seem  to  entail — this  is  the  only  form 
of  democracy  that  can  successfully  solve  the  problems  of  the 
present  and  brave  the  dangers  of  the  future  with  confidence. 
With  the  passing  of  la\^made  democracy,  will  disappear  a 
law-made  political  conscience.  "  When  I  was  a  child  I  spake 
as  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child,  but  when  I  became  a  man 
I  put  away  childish  things." 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

i.  Books :  ABBOTT,  E.  V. :  Justice  and  the  Modern  Law,  1913 ;  ALGER, 
G.  W. :  The  Old  Law  and  the  New  Order,  1913;  CHARMONT,  J.:  Le  Droit 
et  L'Esprit  Democratique,  1008;  CROLY,  H.  C. :  Progressive  Democracy, 
1914;  FOLLETT,  M.  P.:  The  New  State,  pp.  156 ff. ;  GOODNOW,  F.  G. :  Social 
Reform  and  the  Constitution,  1911;  GREEN:  Lectures  on  the  Principles 
of  Political  Obligation,  Works,  Vol.  2,  335  f. ;  HADLEY:  Relations  Between 
Freedom  and  Responsibility  in  the  Evolution  of  Democratic  Government, 
1913;  HILL,  D.  J. :  Americanism:  What  Is  It?  1916;  LASKI,  H.  J. :  Studies 
in  the  Problem  of  Sovereignty,  Ch.  I,  Appendices  A,  B;  Authority  in 


440  POLITICAL  OBLIGATION  IN  AMERICAN  DEMOCRACY 

the  Modern  State,  1919;  RANSOM,  W.  L. :  Majority  Rule  and  the  Judi- 
ciary, 1912;  ROE,  G.  E. :  Our  Judicial  Oligarchy,  1912. 

2.  Articles :  HOCKING  :  "  Sovereignty  and  Moral  Obligation."  Inter- 
national Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  28,  pp.  314  ff- ;  POUND,  ROSCOE:  Articles 
on  Sociological  Jurisprudence  in  the  Harvard  Law  Review. 


INDEX 


Abbott,  E.  V.,  439. 

Academy,  expression  of  democracy, 
280  f. 

Adams,  Thomas,  46. 

Addams,  Jane,  21,  98,  145,  301, 
358. 

Adeney,  W.  F.,  42. 

Alexander,  H.  B.,  370. 

Alexander,  S.,  200. 

Alger,  G.  W.,  439. 

Allen,  W.  H.,  21. 

Americanism,  meaning  of,  82  f. 

Anderson,  K.  C,  247,  275. 

Aristotle,  124-125,  126,  219,  274,  356, 
358,  359- 

Arndt,  W.  T.,  421. 

Astronomy,  significance  of  geo- 
centric for  social  conscience  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  131  f. 

Augustine,  127,  181,  215,  261,  396. 

Aurelius,  Marcus,  396. 

Authoritarianism,  and  morals,  266  f . 

Baer,  George  F.,  313-314 

Bagehot,  Walter,  160. 

Bagley,  W.  C.,  301. 

Baldwin,  J.  M.,  113,  200,  225. 

Ball,  John,  49. 

Batten,  S.  Z.,  275. 

Baxter,  Richard,  32,  33-34,  38,  42, 

46,  47,  253-254,  258,  305. 
Beard,   Charles,  80,   307,   322,  407- 

408,  412,  421. 
Benn,  A.  W.,  297  n. 
Bergson,  188. 
Betts,  G.  H.,  301. 
Blackstone,  232. 
Bogart,  E.  L.,  80. 
Bonar,  James,  59. 
Bosanquet,  B.,  225. 
Boutell,  George  S.,  282. 
Brisco,  N.  A.,  417. 
Brooks,  J.  G.,  98,  370. 
Brooks,  V.  W.,  28,  42,  98. 
Brown,  E.  E.,  301. 
Brown,   S.  R.,  301. 
Bruere,  H.,  421. 
Bryce,  James,  19,  146,  147,  153,  160, 

168,  169,  170,  178. 
Buckley,  James  M.,  142-143. 
Bunyan,  John,  45. 


Burns,  Robert,  40. 

Bury,  J.  B.,  297  n. 

Business,  ethical  standards  con- 
trasted with  those  of  the 
worker,  88  ff . ;  materialistic  ef- 
fects of,  93  f. ;  contribution  to 
morals,  371  f . ;  profits  the  incen- 
tive, 381  ff . ;  competition  the  regu- 
lative principle,  391  ff. 

Butler,  Samuel,  39. 

Calhoun,  A.  W.,  59,  228  n.,  236,  244, 
275. 

Calling,  emphasis  of,  in  Calvinism, 
32. 

Calvin,  John,  40,  50,  56,  135,  181, 
183,  232,  253. 

Calvinism,  see  Ch.  II ;  dominating 
position  among  early  sects,  25  f . ; 
influence  on  the  state,  26  f . ;  so- 
cial regulations  of,  29;  traces  of 
present  day  influence,  31 ;  forces 
making  for  decay  of,  38  f . ;  in- 
fluence on  Colonial  home  and 
sex,  231  f. 

Campbell,  D.,  42. 

Capitalism,  and  Calvinism,  33  f. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  143. 

Casuistry,  the  product  of  the  insti- 
tution, 223  f. 

Cellini,  Benevenuto,   134. 

Change,  and  moral  progress,  188  f . 

Channing,  W.  E.,  40. 

Character,  organization  of,  Ch.  VI ; 
complex  nature,  101  f . ;  constitu- 
ent elements  of,  104  f. 

Chapin,  F.  S.,  301. 

Charmont,  J.,  439. 

Child,  changed  status  in  pioneer 
home,  235  f.;  and  beginnings  of 
factory  system,  237  f . 

Choisy,  E.,  42. 

Church,  see  Ch.  XV;  and  society, 
246  f . ;  and  rise  of  a  secular  ethic, 
249  f. ;  and  competitive  pecuniary 
individualism,  252  f . ;  on  work, 
255  f . ;  wages,  257 ;  wealth,  258 ; 
anti-intellectualism,  260  f . ;  need 
for  dogma,  263  f ;  becoming  de- 
partmental in  modern  life,  270  f  ; 
essentially  conservative  role, 


441 


442 


INDEX 


271  f. ;  ministry  of  comfort,  273 ; 
moral  leadership,  274. 

City,  American,  its  accidental  na- 
ture, 398  f. ;  as  affected  by  pioneer 
individualism,  399  f. :  by  politics, 
401  f . ;  exploited  by  political 
profiteer,  405  f. ;  and  the  com- 
mercialized press,  414  f . ;  and  so- 
cialism, 415  f . ;  need  of  the  civic 
spirit,  416  f. 

Clark,  L.  D.,  367  n. 

Clergy,  suffers  from  false  social 
estimate,  268  f . 

Colcord,  Joanna  C,  244. 

College,  the  Colonial,  278  f . 

Collectivism,  conflict  with  Individ- 
ualism, 85  f . ;  alleged  incompati- 
bility with  democracy,  173  f. 

Competition,  and  Calvinism,  34  f. : 
and  Christianity,  252  f.;  regula- 
tive principle  of  business,  391  f . ; 
moral  justification,  393  f. 

Conscience,  the  social,  see  Chs.  VII 
and  VIII ;  the  social  and  democ- 
racy, 5;  the  New  England,  30; 
anticipated  among  lower  animals, 
1141.;  relation  to  custom,  115  f . ; 
definition  of,  H9f. :  traits  of, 
120  f. ;  relation  to  the  virtues, 
124  f.:  role  of  ideas  in,  129!; 
need  of  rational  direction,  132  f . ; 
tendencies  in  American  life, 
133  f. ;  types  of,  140  f . ;  the  most 
socially  valuable,  143  f . ;  limita- 
tions of,  Ch.  X,  144  f.;  distin- 
guished from  public  opinion,  Ch. 
IX,  149  ff. ;  role  in  organic  social 
judgment,  156  i. ;  never  impar- 
tial, 162  f . :  narrow  in  scope, 
164  f.;  relation  to  referendum 
and  recall,  165  f . ;  limited  by  in- 
stincts, 177  f. ;  traits  of  institu- 
tionalized, 221  f . ;  and  the  school, 
286  f. 

Consciousness,  of  the  group,  role 
of,  H4f. 

Constitution,  and  economic  forces, 
308  f . ;  instrument  for  national 
and  moral  discipline,  423  ff. 

Cooley,  C.  H..  113,  145,  146-147,  158, 
160,  214,  225,  396. 

Corporation,  rise  in  American  life. 
69  f .,  73  f . ;  its  traits,  74  f . 

Cotton,  John,  41. 

Croly,  H.  C.,  21,  58-59,  182,  427, 
438,  439- 

Cubberley,  E.  P.,  283,  301. 

Cunningham,  W.,  275. 

Custom,    definition,    116;    differen- 


tiated    from     social     conscience, 
117. 

Danks,  Canon,  363. 

Darwin,  Charles,  38,  41,  115,  243, 
435- 

Davenport,  F.  M.,  141,  142. 

Dealey,  J.  Q.,  244. 

Defoe,  Daniel,  62,  253. 

Deming,  H.  E.,  402,  405-406,  410, 
421. 

Democracy,  meanings  of,  2-5 ; 
DeTocqueville  on  the  tyranny  of, 
12-13 ;  Faguet  on  the  incompe- 
tence of,  14,  15;  and  mere  good- 
ness, 16-18;  the  problem  of,  18- 
19,  see  Ch.  I;  the  paradox  of, 
19-21 ;  Puritan  conception  of, 
49  f . ;  Latin  and  Anglo-Saxon 
conceptions  of,  51 ;  and  the 
tyranny  of  the  majority,  166  f. ; 
endangered  by  like-mindedness, 
168  f . ;  and  the  expert,  171  f. ;  in- 
compatible with  collectivism, 
173  f . ;  and  the  pioneer  home, 
234  f . ;  and  the  modern  home, 
242  f . ;  and  the  school,  279  f. ;  rise 
of  law-made,  426  f . ;  socialized, 

435  f- 

Descartes,  298. 

Determinism,  economic,  fallacies 
of,  343  f • 

Dewey,  John,  201,  225,  276,  293,  301. 

Dexter,  E.  G.,  301. 

Dicey,  A.  V.,  59,  65,  80,  87,  129, 
137,  148,  160,  173,  178,  186-187. 

Divorce,  index  of  problem  of  home, 
238 f.;  causes  of,  239  f.;  signifi- 
cance of,  243  f . 

Dogma,  the  guardian  of  faith, 
262  f. 

Doumergue,  E.,  42. 

Dowden,  E.,  42,  44-45. 

Duncan,  J.  C,  352. 

Education,  its  nature  and  purpose, 
276  f. 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  38,  39,  231. 

Egalitarianism,  and  Puritan  con- 
ception of  democracy,  50  f. ;  and 
vulgar  democracy,  51  f. 

Eliot,  Charles  W.,  86,  98,  301. 

Ellwood,  C.  A.,  98,  239  n.,  275. 

Kly,  R.  T.,  304,  320.  322. 

Emerson,  Ralph  W.,  122,  286. 

Emotion,  nature  of  and  relation  to 
instincts  and  sentiments,  105  f . ; 
relation  to  the  social  conscience, 
141  f. 


INDEX 


443 


Equality,  and  democracy,  4-5. 

Equilibrium,  social,  Spencer's  the- 
ory of,  197  f. ;  relation  to  the 
moral  ideal,  109  ff. 

Erskine,  John,  16. 

Ethic,  rise  of  secular,  249 f.;  Teu- 
tonic and  Christian,  25of. 

Eucken,  R.,  275. 

Expert,  role  in  a  democracy,  171  f . ; 
kinds  of,  176  f. 

Fact,  opposed  to  ideal  in  American 

life,  94  f. ;  why  emphasized,  96  f. 
Factory    system,    rise    in    England, 

63  f. 
Faguet,  Emile,  14-15,  19,  21,  51,  166, 

172,.  178 
Fanaticism,   as  an   element   in   the 

social  conscience,   142  f. 
Fatalism,  of  the  multitude,  168  f. 
Fichte,  118. 

Figgis,  J.  N.,  247,  275. 
Fiske,  A.  K.,  395. 
Fite,   W.,  225. 
Follett,  M.  P.,  21,  439. 
Folsom,  J.  K.,  215  n. 
Ford,  P.  L.,  42,  59. 
Forel,  A.,  238. 
Forsyth,  Principal,  264. 
Fowler,  T.,  185  n. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  256. 
Freedom,      intellectual      and      the 

church,  260  f . ;  academic,  297  f . 
Frontier,     influence    on    American 

life,  60. 

Galileo,  131. 

Galton,  F.,  115. 

Garrod,  H.  W.,  247,  275. 

George,  Henry,  307,  322. 

Ghent,  W.  J.,  80,  160,  313,  395. 

Giddings,  F.  H.,  21,  301. 

Godkin,  E.  L..  21,  147-148,  150,  160. 

Goodness,  fallacy  of,  15-19. 

Goodnow,  F.  J.,  421,  439. 

Goodsell,  W.,  228  n.,  232  n.,  239  n., 

244. 
Green,  T.  H.,  183-184,  200,  322,  439. 

Hadley,  A.  T.,  98,  145,  161,  308, 
309-310,  322,  392,  393,  417-418, 

439- 

Hagar,  F.  N.,  244. 
Haldane,  R.  B.,  145. 
Hamilton,    Alexander    51,    52,    237, 

307. 

Hamilton,  W.  H.,  378. 
Haney,  L.  H.,  81. 
Hanna.  C.  A.,  42. 


Hanscom,  E.  D.,  42. 

Hart,  A.  B.,  42. 

Havemeyer,  G.,  70. 

Hawley,  F.  B.,  386. 

Haworth,  P.  L.,  98. 

Hegel,  1 20. 

Henderson,  Arthur,  370. 

Henderson,  C.  R.,  370. 

Henderson,  E.  N.,  301. 

Henson,  H.  H.,  247,  260,  275. 

Heraclitus,  188. 

Hill,  David  J.,  429-430,  431,  439. 

Hoben,  Allan,  275. 

Hobhouse,  L.  T.,  21,  113,  145,  182, 
185  n.,  201,  322. 

Hobson,  J.  A.,  81,  324,  348-349,  37O, 
396,  401. 

Hocking,  W.  E.,  440. 

Holmes,  E.,  183  n.,  222. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  39. 

Holmes,  Justice  O.  W.,  319,  321, 
322,  367. 

Home,  see  Ch.  XIV ;  role  in  so- 
cializing individual,  206;  in- 
stincts at  basis  of,  226  f. ;  the 
Colonial,  228  f. ;  influenced  by 
Calvinism,  23  if.;  in  pioneer 
democracy,  233  f. ;  problem  of, 
238  f. 

Howard,  G.  E.,  243. 

Howe,  F.  C.,  412,  413,  420,  421. 

Howerth,  Ira  W.,  396. 

Hoxie,  R.  F.,  336,  339-34O,  341,  368, 

37<>,  415. 
Huxley,  T.  H.,  307,  322. 

Ideal,  opposed  to  fact  in  American 
life,  94  f . ;  the  moral,  106  f. 

Ideas,  their  relation  to  the  social 
conscience,  129  f. 

Individual,  see  Ch.  XIII;  debt  to 
the  institution,  214  f. 

Individualism,  see  Ch.  Ill;  reli- 
gious influences  making  for,  44  f . ; 
political  antecedents  of,  48  f. ;  in- 
fluenced by  American  form  of 
government,  52  f . ;  due  to  ipioneer 
life,  53  f. ;  traits  of,  54  f . ;  need 
of  a  new,  57  f. :  conflict  with  col- 
lectivism, 85  f.,  137;  in  the 
pioneer  home,  234  f . ;  pecuniary 
competitive  and  Christianity, 
252  f. 

Industry,  and  individualism,  57  f . ; 
domestic  in  eighteenth  century, 
62  f . ;  captains  of  and  forces 
tending  to  discredit,  374  f. 

Instinct,  definition,  104;  relation  to 
the  emotions,  105;  as  influenced 


444 


INDEX 


by  machine  process,  352  f . ;  and 
the  Great  Society,  357. 
Institution,  the,  Chs.  XII  and  XIII ; 
as  a  moral  educator,  203  ff. ;  re- 
lation to  self  illustrated,  207  f . ; 
how  superior  to  the  individual, 

214  f.;    and    the    self-made    man, 

215  f. ;  limitations  of,  218  f. 

Jacks,  L.  P.,  249,  275,  330,  370. 
Jackson,  Andrew,  53,  72. 
James,  William,  271,  380. 
Jefferson,  Thomas,  39,  43,  Si,  53,  59, 

72,  74,  135,  281. 
Jenks,  J.,  161. 
Jenks,  T.  W.,  301,  396. 
Jones,  E.  H.,  145. 
Joseph,  H.  W.  B.,  370. 
Judgment,  organic  social,   156  f. 
Jury,   as   interpreter   of   the   social 

conscience,  176  f. 

Kant,  Immanuel,  112,  139,  183. 
Keasby,  L.  M.,  396. 
King,  I.,  113- 

Kingsley,  Charles,  391-392. 
Kipling,     Rudyard,     "  M'Andrews' 
Hymn  "  and  the  machine,  334  n. 
Kropotkin,  P.,  393- 
Kuyper,  A.,  31  n.,  42. 

La  Rochefoucauld,  in. 

Laski,  H.  J.,  439. 

Law,  disrespect  for,  91  f . ;  and  the 
status  of  the  worker,  363  f. ;  in- 
validated by  rise  of  Great  So- 
ciety, 366  f . ;  made  superior  to 
Demos,  426  f . 

Lecky,  19,  127,  190,  220-221,  265- 
266,  297  n.,  372. 

Lee,  G.  E.,  21. 

Letourneau,  322. 

Levy,  H.,  42,  257-258,  306. 

Lichtenberger,  J.  P.,  244. 

Lippman,  Walter,  98,  387. 

Lloyd,  A.,  20,  22,  225. 

Lloyd,  H.  D.,  322. 

Locke,  John,  28,  49,  50,  56,  59,  135, 
287,  304,  425,  434. 

Lovejoy,  A.  O.,  98,  396. 

Low,  A.  Maurice,  24,  42. 

Lowell,  A.  L.,  21,  147,  156,  160,  166, 
171-172,  178,  426. 

Luther,  Martin,  49,  215,  232,  253. 

Macaulay,  Thomas  B.,  19. 

MacGregor.  D.  H.,  396. 

Machine,  distinguished  from  a  tool, 

324  f. 
Machine  process,  place   in  Ameri- 


can life,  66  f. ;  role  in  the  Great 
Society,  69 f.;  effect  on  home, 
237  f. ;  influence  on  daily  life, 
324  f. ;  two  phases  of  ,  326  f . : 
based  on  causation,  328  f . ;  and 
Germany,  335  f . ;  and  the  worker, 
336  f. ;  impersonality  of,  337  f . ; 
social  gains  through,  348  ff. ; 
tendency  to  standardize,  352  f . ; 
why  opposed  by  labor,  361  f. 

Madison,  James,  52,  307. 

Majority,   tyranny   of,   166  f. 

Mallock,  W.  H.,  21,  160. 

Man,  the  average  and  democracy, 
6-8 ;  the  characteristics  of  the 
average  man,  8-12;  the  keeper  of 
the  social  conscience,  20,  21 ;  the 
self-made,  215  f. 

Mandeville,  Bernard  de,  385. 

Mann,  Horace,  282. 

Marot,  Helen,  370. 

Marshall,  Chief  Justice,  309. 

Marshall,  L.  C,  81,  322,  323,  370, 
395- 

McAdoo,  William  G.,  407. 

McBain,  H.  L.,  421. 

McDougall,  William,  104,  105,  113, 
122,  225,  226,  244. 

Mclver,  R.  M.,  225. 

McMaster,  J.  B.,  59. 

Mecklih,  J.  M.,  22,  113,  145,  2240., 
233  n.,  244,  275- 

Medievalism,  Father  Tyrrell  on, 
260. 

Meily,  Clarence,  30-31,  42. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  421. 

Milton,  John,  149,  232,  234. 

Mitchell,  W.  C,  37.7. 

Money,  the  prevailing  measure  of 
values,  376  f . 

Montesquieu,  15,  16. 

Moody,    W.    V.,   on    the    machine, 

333-334- 

Moore,  A.,  135. 
Morality,    uncertainty   of,    Ch.    V ; 

the  essence  of,  83  f. ;  dualism  in 

American,  89  f . 
Morley,  Lord  J.,  85,  201. 
Morrow,  Dr.  Prince  A.,  240. 
Muir,  Ramsay,  160. 

New  Republic,  The,  quoted,  171. 
Nietzsche,   112,   122,  216,  221,  267, 
269.' 

Obligation,  political,  why  important 
in  a  democracy,  423 ;  nature  of 
in  the  state,  428  f . 

Opinion,     public,     definitions      of, 


INDEX 


445 


146  ff. ;  distinguished  from  social 
conscience,  149  f . ;  relation  to  so- 
cial conscience  in  American 
democracy,  155  f . ;  role  in  or- 
ganic social  judgment,  is6f. 

Organization,  Ch.  VI;  role  in  de- 
velopment of  character,  100  f. 

Overstreet,  H.  A.,  322. 

Paine,  Thomas,  39,  59. 

Parker,  Carleton  H.,  241. 

Patten,  S.  N.,  201. 

Pattison,  Mark,  148. 

Paulhan,  F.  G.,  113. 

Peel,  Sir  Robert,  19,  146. 

Perry,  R.  B.,  113,  201. 

Personality,  emphasis  of,  in  Puri- 
tanism, 45. 

Plato,  4,  31,  112,  114,  125,  183,  274, 
328,  397,  399. 

Pound,   Roscoe,  440. 

Predestination,  influence  upon  in- 
dividualism, 48  f. 

Press,   commercialization   of,  414  f. 

Profits,  and  Calvinism,  33,  36;  the 
business  incentive,  381 ;  its  un- 
moral character,  382;  economic 
and  moral  justification,  385  f. 

Progress,  moral,  confused  with 
change  and  evolution,  179  f. ;  the- 
ories of,  i8of.;  dependent  upon 
insight,  185  f. ;  illustrated  by  bet- 
terment of  status  of  English 
worker,  186  f. ;  elements  in,  187; 
as  affected  by  change,  188  f. ;  by 
irrational  factors,  190  f. 

Property,  nature  of  right,  302  f . ; 
as  a  natural  right,  306;  and  the 
Constitution,  307  f . ;  and  the 
Fourteenth  Amendment,  309  f . ; 
Hadley  quoted  on  the  "  impreg- 
nable constitutional  position  "  of, 
309  f . ;  as  instrument  of  social 
control,  312  f. ;  as  providing  a 
measure  of  values,  315  f . ;  social- 
ization of,  317  f. 

Puritanism,  influence  on  American 
civilization,  24  f . ;  business  ethics 
of,  32  f. 

Ransom,  W.  L.,  440. 

Rauschenbusch,  W.,  275. 

Referendum,  and  the  social  con- 
science, 165. 

Religion,  predominance  in  early 
American  life,  23  f. 

Revolution,  the  Industrial,  in  Eng- 
land, 61  f . ;  in  America,  67  f. 

Rights,  Woman's,  235  f . ;  definition 


of,  302;  natural  and  the  worker, 

364  f.;     and     the     Constitution, 

425  f. 

Riley,  W.  I.,  42. 
Ritchie,  D.  G.,  42,  49,  59,  322. 
Kobbins,  C.  L.,  301. 
Rodrigues,  G.,  21,  296. 
Roe,  G.  E.,  440. 
Roosevelt,  Theodore,  78. 
Ross,  E.  A.,  78,  81,  98,  160,  414. 
Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques,  28,  40,  49, 

50,  195,  286,  287. 
Rowe,  L.  S.,  420-421. 
Ryan,  John  A.,  322,  381  n.,  395. 
Ryan,  O.,  421. 

Sandys,  Sir  Edwin,  228. 
Santayana,  George,  89,  98. 
Schmoller,  G.,  161. 
School,    see    Ch.    XVI;    its    origin 
and     purpose,     277  f . ;     Colonial, 
278  f . ;   influenced   by   democracy, 
281  f . ;     socialization     of,     284  f. ; 
ethical  norms  it  should  cultivate, 
286  f . ;  f eminization  of,  291  f . ;  as 
training  for  citizenship,  293  f.. 

Science,  social,  limitations  of,  99  f . ; 
role  in  liberalizing  the  social  con- 
science, 296. 

Seager,  H.  R.,  74. 

Self,  evolution  of,  in  the  institu- 
tional setting,  205  f . ;  composite 
nature,  207  f . ;  the  super-institu- 
tional, 209  f. ;  relation  of  institu- 
tional to  individual,  211  f . ;  traits 
of  institutionalized,  221  f. 

Seneca,  261. 

Sentiments,  moral,  Ch.  VI ;  defini- 
tion, 106  f. ;  relation  to  instincts 
and  emotions,  107;  relation  to 
ideas,  108  f . ;  dominant  role  in 
character  formation,  109  f . ;  rela- 
tion of  moral  to  other  sentiments, 
inf.;  disinterested,  121  f.;  role 
in  religion,  267  f. 

Shand,  A.  F.,  105,  113,  140. 

Sharp,  F.  C.,  294,  295,  301. 

Shaw,  George  Bernard,  21,  82,  89. 

Shaw,  C.  G.,  122. 

Sheldon,  W.  L.,  322. 

Sidgwick,  H.,  145. 

Slater,  Samuel,  67. 

Sloane,  W.  M.,  22. 

Small,  A.  W.,  82,  83,  98. 

Smith,  Adam,  34,  56,  65,  74,  216, 
363,  381,  391,  395,  421. 

Smith,  G.  B.,  275. 

Society,  the  Great,  Ch.  IV;  rise  of, 
in  England,  61  f. ;  evolution  of, 


446 


INDEX 


in  America,  66  f . ;  the  problem 
of,  71  f . ;  traits  of,  72  f. ;  its  fu- 
ture, 79  f . ;  and  the  instincts, 

357- 

Socialism,  causes  of  spread  in  the 
cities,  415  f. 

Sovereignty,  popular  and  democ- 
racy, 3;  of  God  in  Calvinism, 
26;  political,  theories  of,  433  ff. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  121,  197,  198, 
201. 

State,  as  instrument  for  moral  dis- 
cipline, 422  f . ;  Darwinian  versus 
Newtonian  conceptions  of,  435  f. 

St.  Benedict,  127,  183. 

Steinmetz,  C.  P.,  59,  81. 

Stephen,  L.,  145,  184,  185,  201,  225, 
231. 

Stewardson,  L.  C.,  275. 

Stevens,  E.  G.,  395. 

Stevens,  W.  H.  S.,  395- 

Stoops,  J.  S.,  225,  396. 

Sumner,  Charles,  57,  192,  306. 

Sumner,  W.  G.,  145. 

Tarde,  G.,  297. 

Taussig,  F.  W.,  382,  388,  390,  396. 

Taylor,    F.    W.,   338-341,   359,   360, 

362,  370. 

Taylor,  Graham,  247-248,  275. 
Tead,  Ordway,  312-313,  3,55,  370. 
Tickner,  F.  W.,  81. 
Tipper,  H.,  374. 
Tocqueville,    Alexis    de,   4,    10,    12, 

13,  21,  43,  59,  204,  235,  409- 
Todd,  A.  J.,  201. 
Troeltsch,  E.,  42. 
Turner,  F.  J.,  59. 
Trumbull,  J.  H.,  42. 
Tufts,  J.  H.,  22,  225,  289. 
Tyrrell,  George,  260,  275. 

Van  Hise,  C.  R.,  81. 

Veblen,  T.,  81,  252,  275,  311,  322, 
328,  342,  343,  343  n.,  344,  37O,  396. 

Vincent,  G.  E.,  301. 

Virtues,  relation  to  the  social  con- 
science, 124  f.;  why  subject  to 


change,     127  f . ;     encouraged    by 
business,  371  f. 

Wages,  and  Calvinistic  ethic,  37, 
257. 

Walker,  W.,  42. 

Wallace,  A.  R.,  180,  201. 

Wallas,  Graham,  60,  70,  80,  81,  357. 

Wallis,  Louis,  42. 

Ward,  L.  F.,  225,  301. 

Wealth,  and  churchly  ethic,  258. 

Webb,  Sidney  and  Beatrice,  370. 

Webb,  Sidney  J.,  193,  370. 

Weber,  Max,  33,  42. 

Wells,  H.  G.,  9,  429. 

Wesley,  John,  254. 
•  Westermarck,  E.,  145,  322. 

Weyl,  W.  E.,  22,  55,  56,  59,  399-400. 

White,  A.  D.,  297  n. 

Whitfield,  George,  39. 

Wilcox,  W.  F.,  239  n.,  244. 

Willoughby,  W.  W.,  306. 

Wilson,  L.  E.,  417,  421. 

Wilson,  Woodrow,  91,  98,  435. 

Wilson,  W.  W.,  275. 

Winchester,  B.  S.,  275. 

Witherspoon,  John,  31  n. 

Woodburn,  J.  A.,  31  n. 

Woman,  place  in  the  Colonial 
home,  230  f . ;  legal  status,  232  f . ; 
and  pioneer  home,  234  f . ;  strug- 
gle for  rights,  235  f . ;  prevalence 
in  teaching,  291  f. 

Work,  in  the  Calvinistic  ethic,  37. 

Worker,  see  Ch.  XIX;  and  the 
church,  247  f.;  status  and  the 
machine,  336;  never  completely 
dominated  by  machine,  351  f . ;  at- 
titude towards  machine  process, 
359  f . ;  law  as  affecting  the  status 
of,  363  f  - 

Wright,  Carroll  D.,  239  n.,  328. 

Wundt,  W.,  116,  145. 

Wyclif,  John,  49. 

Wyman,  Bruce,  366,  396. 

Yarros,  V.  S.,  161. 

Zeublin,  Charles,  421. 


Ulllll  llll  Hill  Hill  Hill  I'WiHii  _ 


